I PS 3503 
■ 05595 
D7 
1913 
v. 1 

Copy 1 




Class ( 6 . 

Book 




Copyright N° 


1 7 I. 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




























































































































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DRIFTWOOD 

- c/4 Collection of 

Paragraphs, Poems and 
Prose Sketches 


-----.-= Br :-- - 

STARR L. BARBER 

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IDLE THOUGHTS FOR AN IDLE MINUTE , 

WITH WHICH TO PASS THE HEAVY TIME AWAY, 
PICK UP THIS BOOK; THERE’S SOMETHING IN IT 
A HINT OF DUTY IT MAY CONVEY. 


VOLUME I. 


COPYRIGHTED, 1913, 
BY 

MYRON A. BARBER 
PETOSKEY, MICH. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


























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C/larr Gl. 'G/iarier- 


• • • 
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©CI.A350444 
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Preface 

T HE aim of the author in the following pages has been to carry 
out the idea suggested by the title “ Driftwood.” As jetsam 
floats on the surface of the sea, or deadwood is borne upon the 
tide of the river to be swirled in eddy or darted in rapids, the 
interest centers in the variety of the objects and the manner of their 
coming together. There is no order in their coming or going. They 
jostle and jam, and fret and fray their forms in their strife with the 
whirlpool or cover themselves with slime in the bayou. Nor is there any 
observance of the principle of selection in the character of the objects. 
The rule of chance is the Jaw of the waters that control their move¬ 
ments. Is it not so in the affairs of human life? Are not the achieve¬ 
ments, the adventures, the accidents and the minor incidents of every 
day experience assembled with equal disregard to order or character? 

Life is best typified by the city street. Plenty and poverty, piety 
and profanity, rum and ruin, rags and roses meet our eyes or offend our 
ears in every square, and often under the roof of the same block. ’Tis 
the law of the street whatever be seen. The hand of destiny directs 
the general drift. 

We may carry the parallel into the realm of mind, with equal con¬ 
sistency, nor hope for uniformity of opinion or concatenation of thought. 
The author may be criticised for bringing the grave and the gay, the 
foolish and the wise, the religious and the profane in juxtaposition on 
the same page or in the same column. If some things appear irrelevant 
or even irreligious, it is only carrying out the trend of experience in 
everyday life. The circus parade passes the funeral procession in the 
crowded city street; the trolley car collides with the furniture van ; the 
strains of the cathedral pipe organ mingle with the music of the German 
band playing in front of a saloon ; the beggar follows the banker ; the 
pauper treads on the heels of the prince; the ash wagon crowds the 
automobile. So life is only a constant succession of incongruities. 

There has been no wish on the part of the author to wound the 
religious, political or social sensibilities or deep rooted prejudices of any 
one, nor to carry his own predilection to the front. He realizes that the 
world is broadening in thought, religious and secular, and that any book 
to be popular or profitable, must appeal to more than a single interest. 
The aim has been to present in plain and trenchant terms a transcript of 
every day experience in the common walks of life. There has been no 
effort at ornate phraseology, charm of diction or ambiguity of meaning, 
as is too often the case in books, magazines and newspapers. The desire 
has been to so arrange matter that the book may be picked up, opened 
anywhere at any time, and something be found, in paragraph, poem or 
prose sketch, to interest, instruct or amuse the reader. If this object 
shall be gained, the author will be satisfied. He has no desire to cater to 
the prejudice of any one, nor would he assail the religious instincts of 
the most devout Christian. But it is a wide world, under a wide range 
of thought, investigation and experiment, and no one class is going to 
dominate the opinion nor dictate or direct the consciences of all the 


others. That has been the trouble in all the ages of the past. But the 
sun of Superstition and bigotry has passed the zenith and is going down to 
leave a gorgeous sky to light the path of progress. If there be any who 
can’t stand the glare of the New Thought, the author’s advice to them 
is to turn their backs to the glitter and to still confine their vision to a 
dead By-gone. 


The man, who when the day shall close. 
Backward in his thinking goes 
O’er all the deeds of the day, 

And shall not find one to regret, 

From rising sun to bright sunset, 

“ ’Tis good to live,”’ can truly say. 

That man hath never need to pray 
For God to bless him day by day. 

He lives his prayer and answer reaps 
In waking hour and when he sleeps. 

Happy is he all the time, 

For he is heeding duty’s call. 

And every deed, if great or small, 

Makes his life the more sublime. 

It is the love that we possess; 

Blessing others, ourselves we bless. 

Would that all might learn the law 
That what we give, from that we draw 
The sweet rewards of life. 

For then the riches we should store 
That give us joy in counting o’er 
Would never lead to strife. 

The more we then should give away. 

The more we would possess each day. 

The Author. 



DRIFTWOOD 


1 


Who Is The Hero? 

The world may hate with bitter scorn, 
And seek thy honor to deride, 

For many heroes must be born 
To be like Jesus crucified. 

But right shall triumph over wrong, 
And foes be vanquished at the last, 
And every curse be changed to song. 
When superstition’s night is past. 

Base Judases infest the camp. 

Who first embraces and then betray. 
But truer hand shall hold the lamp 
Along the bright, triumphant way. 

Be brave and strong and true, O man. 
And live serenely to thy thought, 

For only thus since time began 

Have signal victories been wrought. 

’Tis only cowards that will yield 
To men who criticise their thought, 
And who desert the battlefield 

Before the battle has been fought. 

Fought to a victory complete, 

When hostile ramparts are laid low, 
And when the foe in quick retreat 
Back to error’s camp shall go. 

The time demands men brave at heart, 
With conscience keen and will that’s 
strong. 

Keen to discern what is their part 
In urging right against the wrong. 

All ages have this type of men, 

Who raise their voices loud and long, 
Or with the weapon of the pen 
Indite oration or a song. 

He is the hero who shall dare 

Stand in the vanguard of the fray, 

A bloodless victory to share 

When error, vanquished, flees away. 


A great many men who boast of being 
.elf-made had the foundation laid by their 
fathers and the superstructure put up by 
heir wives. 


There isn’t anything about motherhood 
to offend true modesty. Nature’s proces¬ 
ses are sacred and, legitimately expressed, 
need never inspire shame or cause a blush. 


How many, many women suffer for years 
without any knowledge of the primary or 
contributory cause. Nor would they be¬ 
lieve it if told. Well, it may be true that 
“where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be 
wise.” 


Good Advice. 

Newspapers often give good advice to 
boys and young men as to the line of con¬ 
duct they should pursue in order to make 
a success of life. Their counsel is needed 
all right by those for whom it is intended, 
but I think it would be more logical if they 
would go further back and open their bat¬ 
tery of words on the fathers of the boys. 
Go to the cradle and condemn the delin¬ 
quencies of the parents. It is in the home, 
not in the world of business that character 
is moulded. “As the twig is bent the tree’s 
inclined, ” and no number of newspaper 
articles can change the bent or overcome 
the habits formed by the fireside of infancy 
and early childhood. The neglect there is 
responsible for the faults thereafter. Par¬ 
ents used to feel a deep sense of responsi¬ 
bility in this direction, but I am forced to 
the conclusion that in the majority of cases 
to-day, parents prefer to shirk to shift their 
obligations and delegate their authority to 
their neighbors or the State. 


“Mashed on Her.” 

’Twas man that made the auto car, 

And made the aviator, too. 

With which to sail up to a star 

To learn what star folk say and do. 
But somehow none go up to stay; 

They all this world seem to prefer. 
Back they come, in a breakneck way, 

To the earth; they are mashed on her. 


Women are fast throwing men out of 
employment; but there are plenty of men 
willing to be thrown down. Some married 
men, however, have some dread of the no¬ 
toriety that would result from being obliged 
to commence proceedings against their 
wives for non-support. This is something, 
possibly, the new woman has never stopped 
to consider. 


“ Mamma.” said a little dot of a boy, 
“won’t ’oo let me hang up oour stockin’, 
tause mine is so small Santa Taus might 
not see it nor have anything to fit it?" 
That little boy has an eye to business, and 
future historians will write him up as a 
self-made man. 
















2 


DRIFTWOOD 


What Right? 

It is singular that people will employ the 
lowest types of barbarism to advance what 
they are pleased to call the higher civiliza¬ 
tion. A high state of civilization is only 
promoted by the arts of peace. To force 
a feebler nation to accept our ideas of 
government or religion, at the cannon’s 
mouth, I cannot think has the approbation 
of God, or is dictated by a true humanity. 
The basic principle of religion is brother¬ 
hood, and that recognizes no carnal strife 
and draws no lines of caste, color or na¬ 
tionality that interfere with natural rights— 

Who says the heathen shall not go 
Where’er he wills in God’s domain? 

What right have we, I’d like to know, 
His love of freedom to restrain. 

What right to say ‘ This land’s our own,” 
And bid mankind ‘‘keep off the grass?” 

What right to say in what fair zone 
A human soul his life shall pass? 

The cattle on a thousand hills 

Belong to God. The hills as well, 

And he transcends his right, who wills 
To dictate where a man shall dwell. 

Restricted immigration, then, 

Annuls kind Nature’s primal law. 

There is no power given to men 
Whereby the limit line they draw. 

That is defined by human needs, 

Not fixed by Presidents nor Kings; 

Nor does the right reside in creeds 
To check the souls deep aspirings. 

Man is not higher than the laws 
Of Nature. Neither is his might 

The sure test that in his cause 
Alone inheres Eternal Right. 


The person who surreptitiously seeks 
forbidden fruit will certainly be driven 
out of Eden. The Adam in human nature 
didn’t die with the garden incident; nor 
the effect of transgression perish with his 
example. 

Some men think they can sow in Hell 
and reap in Heaven. They scatter the 
seed of sin all right, but they reap ill- 
health, family dissention and finally a 
broken up home, to die at last in the poor 
house, and then burn forever in the un¬ 
quenchable furnace. 


Boycott The Butcher. 

There was a time I used to eat, 

Once in a while, a little meat. 

But now ( I say it with a sigh ) 

I eat no meat; it is too high. 

A dime will only get a piece 
Large as itself, including grease, 

And ten cents for a mule soup-bone 
That weighs a pound, dry as a stone— 
Ah well, meat barons, one and all, 
Meat may keep up, but you will fall. 
Fall where? fall when? I hate to tell— 
Some people think there is no—. 


So long as money is worshipped, people 
are not going to have very strong scruples 
about the methods adopted to secure their 
idol. 


Families that commence the week with 
a row generally end it with remorse. 


The man that will not keep his word 
need not be surprised if others are slow to 
take it. 


Defend Her Honor. 

It does not seem possible that men could 
be keyed on so low a pitch as not to desire 
to defend in every instance woman’s honor; 
to stand in defense of her reputation, her 
integrity and her purity under all circum¬ 
stances, for on these graces in her charac¬ 
ter depends his own happiness and well 
being. I don’t care whether it be his own 
wife, sister or mother, or those who stand 
in these sacred relationships to some other 
man ; self-interest, if no higher motive, 
should govern his conduct. A debased 
womanhood implies a depraved manhood 
every time. Hence the man that stands up 
for woman’s purity is fiting for his own 
honor. Yet notwithstanding this self-evi¬ 
dent fact, we find men so bereft of true 
manhood that womanly graces have no real 
significance to them; they have no regard 
for purity and prize virtue only for the 
opportunity to despoil woman of it. We 
see this low estimate daily manifested, and 
can’t help but despise the being that has so 
low an appreciation of the better half of 
his race. 















DRIFTWOOD 


3 


A Wet May Day. 

I do not mind a rainy day. 

If the rain come pattering down, 

In a gentle, refreshing way, 

To kiss the eager, waiting ground. 

But if it pelt like pebbles sharp 

Hurled by a cold and spiteful wind, 
’Tis then that I’m inclined to harp 
That Nature’s methods are unkind, 
And in petulant mood to say 
I hate a rainy day in May. 

I would not in the city stay, 

But country highways would pursue 
Where Nature in a lavish way 
Presents a million charms to view. 

I’d stop at cosy wayside inn, 

It’s hospitality to share. 

And if I took a “smile”—no sin 
To emphasize freedom from care. 

I’m sure that I could truly say 
I love a rainy day in May. 

The green leaves flutter on the trees, 
The orchard yields its fragrance sweet, 
I hear the buzz of drowsy bees, 

The wet grass mats beneath my feet, 
But when the clouds all disappear 

And soft, south winds succeed the rain 
If there’s no hint, in atmosphere, 

Of snow flakes sifting o’er the plain, 
’Tis then I’d sing a cherry lay 
In honor of a wet May day. 


The man that regards law only to evade 
it, and gets rich by doing so, then helps 
build club houses and meeting houses, is 
not a patriotic nor a good citizen. But he 
will get to the front socially just the same. 


Never boast of what you have been or 
might have been. The public sizes you 
up by what you are. 


The man that finds his greatest pleasure 
in finding fault, comes nearer to being a 
monkey than a man. He may be the miss¬ 
ing link. 


Everybody is fitted for something, but 
the trouble with too many is they take so 
long a time in finding out what it is it 
unfits them for anything. 


If pity were as free 
As prejudice is strong, 

Few people there would be 
To seek the paths of wrong. 


If people didn’t try to put the best side 
out this would be a shabby looking world 
And the best side is the right side. Who 
would care to see the world wrong side out? 


The bum is not always the hobo. He is 
a bum who spends his nights in dissipation 
away from his family, whether it be in the 
so called popular club house or the slum 
brothel. 


Deception. 

The secret of success, to-day, 

Is mainly found in seeming. 

The real has but little sway, 

And life is lived in dreaming. 

The lady is not one at heart, 

The rich man is the pauper; 

All are merely playing a part, 

The gentleman’s the loafer. 

In vulgar parlance, “put on lug,” 

Is what the world is shouting. 

Life is just a big humbug, 

And everyone is doubting. 

We doubt the saint and sinner too. 

We doubt the doctor and the preacher 

In fact, no matter what men do, 
Deception is the feature. 


Follies are like wild geese; they fly in 
flocks. 


Lots of men who think God is infallible 
take His Word with misgiving. 


The paragraph presents truth in a nut¬ 
shell, while the homily is like an inflated 
balloon that soars way above the reach of 
the people. 


Wife ( at breakfast table )—“Yes, dear, 
you can stay out late to-night if you want 
to.” 

Husband.—“ Who said anything about 
staying out ? ” 

Wife.—“ Didn’t you kiss me when you 
came down this morning? I know that’s 
the forerunner of some favor to be grant¬ 
ed.” 
















4 


DRIFTWOOD 


I Protest. 

I protest against any social system that 
does not provide for all mankind, food, fuel 
and raiment sufficient to secure comfort. 
Suffering, from lack of the absolute neces¬ 
sities of life, is an anomalous condition, for 
which our social, moral and legal systems 
are responsible. None can gainsay that 
nature’s resources are ample for all the 
actual needs of man. But social customs 
and statutory enactments make void the 
principles of nature for the comfort of the 
weaker or less fortunate social element. I 
cannot reconcile man’s cupidity with God’s 
munificence; the murmur of the submerg¬ 
ed millions, with his mercy. Truly, the 
principle of demand and supply is inter¬ 
fered with in a way that outrages nature, 
and labor is robbed of its just equivalent, 
while the lion’s share goes to the idler or 
nonproducer, aud those in authority wink 
at justice and scoff at suffering. Consider 
the vast commercial agencies for transport¬ 
ing the product of the mine, the farm and 
the factory—contemplate the crowded store¬ 
houses, the mammoth grain elevators and 
cold-storage plants, and tell me if there is 
any need that could not be provided for; 
any hunger that could not be satisfied. 
Man’s greed is God’s grief, and every cry 
of the innocent sufferer will be registered 
in Heaven against the guilty. I affirm, 
without fear of successful contradiction, 
that the normal condition of humanity is 
one of universal comfort and if the laws 
of nature were not infringed upon, there 
would be no poor, for all are rich whose 
normal needs are met. 

I know that I am rich, indeed. 

If all my needs are satisfied, 

And I will fight that social creed 

By which my wealth shall be denied. 

Kind Mother Nature gave me life, 
Whate’er may my mission be, 

Amidst its struggle and its strife, 

I know that she provides for me. 

Yet, not in idleness I trust 
Implicity in her kind care. 

I realize that it is just 

That I should labor for my share. 

But how shall effort best be made 
To meet supply for each demand? 

Not through capricious laws of trade; 

I must possess my share of land. 


The social policy we need, 

Is not to build up cities grand. 

Mills and factories do not feed 
Beyond the limit of demand. 

Hence I protest against the schemes 
That huddle working men in pens. 

There cannot be uplifting themes 
Discussed in tenement dark dens. 

The city slums belie God’s grace. 

And pauper graves defy His will. 

He’s smiting Justice in the face, 

Who sees such things and dare keep 
still. 

Congested cities are the band 

Of men who must depend on toil. 

The only chance they have to gain, 

Is by possession of the soil. 

Land supplemented by the mill 
With city vices out of sight. 

Would make the hearts of millions thrill 
And make the homes of squalor bright. 

I tire of the city’s shame, 

I grieve to know men are so vile. 

And seek to win a pompous name. 

By methods that are full of guile. 

Give me the country broad and free— 
Free from deceits of lustful men. 

Where everyone is neighborly. 

On mountain top or in the glen—■ 

Free from the pomp and vile parade 
Of wealth, no matter how ’tis won, 

Where men want laws they can’t evade, 
And glory in the good they’ve done. 

It isn’t the existence of differing doc¬ 
trines that is dangerous, but a hostile atti¬ 
tude on the part of people toward them. 
Indeed, this diversity of religious belief is 
the bulwark of our liberties and the surest 
protection to freedom of speech and con¬ 
science we have. Forty years ago senti¬ 
ments uttered by leading orthodox pulpits, 
to-day, w'ould have been met with persecu¬ 
tion, if not martyrdom at the stake or gib¬ 
bet. Let us differ in love and charity, and 
there is no danger in division. There is 
truth in all creeds, and no one’s dictum 
can be a finality. 

We often desire most what we need the 
least. Cupidity is not merely a passion to 
gain gold; we may lust for power or social 
distinction, and make ourselves miserable 
in longing for things we do not need. Na¬ 
ture establishes the boundary of legitimate 
desire, if we would but heed her voice. 







DRIFTWOOD 


5 


“I’ll Ask My Pa.” 

“Mary had a little lamb, 

Its fleece was white as snow.” 

What made its wool so very white 
Dear Mary did not know. 

And so she asked her ma one day 

What made its fleece so white and fine. 

To which her ma did promptly say, 

“So we could draw the color line. 

If it were black as it could be, 

’Twould be a vulgar, common sheep. 

Although God made it so. you see 
’Twould mortify our spirits deep. 

“ They’d class us with the common crowd 
That had no boasted pride of birth. 

In these days, people must be proud 
If they shall live upon the earth.” 

“But ma, if God made one sheep black, 
And made another sheep’s wool white. 

And made the same feed for their rack, 
Can our distinction then be right? 

“Does God give people puzzles, ma, 

To put their genius to the test? 

If you don’t know, I’ll ask my pa, 

For I suppose he knows best. 

“There’s lots of things seem strange to me, 
And lots of things seem out of joint 

’Twixt human will and God’s decree— 
I cannot, someway, see the point. 

“You say that God made everything, 

And that His love is infinite. 

Then why should we our hatred bring 
And try to make out it is right?— 

But I’ll ask my pa.” 


It seems reasonable enough that where 
the brains are in the wife’s head she ought 
to wear the breeches. 


How helpless are the lower animals, and 
how thoughtless are people about minister¬ 
ing to their wants. The house cat mews 
for a drink; the dog looks up at the sink, 
yet we spurn their appeal. The horse 
waits in the stall for his oats; the pig 
squeals in the sty for his swill, and all are 
dependent upon our will, for their wants. 
Lower than brutes are we if we neglect 
them. 


Rich people are the ones that can best 
bear the burdens of a family, but illogical- 
ly they are the ones that shift or shake off 
their responsibility most. 


What Better Time? 

Man does not live by bread alone, 

He needs a little cheer, 

To sweep across life’s friged zone, 
Where blow winds cold and drear. 

He needs a kind word now and then; 

Once in a while a smile, 

And words of praise of tongue or pen, 
His lonliness beguile. 

’Tis little, at the best, to give; 

Costs very little time. 

But my! they make life sweet to live, 
And living make sublime. 

What better time, I pray, to give, 

Than at glad Christmastide, 

The things that make life sweet to live— 
Let them not be denied. 

If sorrow shall obstruct one’s way, 

And clouds obscure his sky, 

A little cheer on New Year’s day, 

Will make the clouds roll by. 


“You’ve got it down fine,” said the boy 
to his mother, when the comb showed up 
more in his head than there ought to be. 


They Pull Them Through. 

Babies grow slow indeed, ’tis true, 

And they are little cranks. 

These are the things that pull them through: 
Paregoric and spanks. 


Life to the dissipated man is a long 
nightmare. 


Pity. 

If pity were as free 
As prejudice is strong, 

Few people there would be 
To seek the path of wrong. 


In chattle slavery the owner realized a 
profit in the services of his servants, but 
the bondage of sin benefits no one. 


A principle or practice may be rebuked 
without reference to person. The individ¬ 
ual must make the application. 


There was crape on the door of the pal¬ 
ace. Death comes to the mansion and the 
hovel. The difference is in the cost of the 
coffin and the number of carriages. 















6 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Higher Proof. 

One man’s experience, however wide or 
varied, is not the measure of the world’s 
wisdom. Because one lives in an atmos¬ 
phere of death and doubt, with no hope, 
no faith, no spiritual aspiration, is not 
proof that another may not so develop his 
spiritual sensibilities as to be able to get 
in close touch with the spiritual universe 
that environs and infiltrates the world of 
sense. When a man says there is no proof 
of a life beyond the grave, he only makes 
confession of his own narrow and sensuous 
experience, and his declaration contradicts 
the experiences of all peoples in all ages. 
We cannot accurately measure Infinity 
with finite standards. 

I never feel like quarreling with any 
man’s convictions. If he is honest in them, 
I respect them, even though wrong from 
my standpoint. But there are some things 
I cherish, which, when assailed, or utterly 
denied, give me positive pain. There are 
some things too sacred to be questioned, 
and too high for the logic of reason to 
reach. I believe God planted in every hu¬ 
man soul feelings he never intended should 
be reasoned out; and to attempt it, I regard 
as an act of sacrilege. Among them, is 
the passion of love and the instinct of im¬ 
mortality. I know there is a life beyond 
the grave ; and I know it by a process of 
reasoning that goes beyond the deductions 
of the outward or external senses. We 
must remember that we are dual beings. 
One part relates to exterior or physical 
things, and the other has affinity for inter¬ 
ior or spiritual verities. The man who 
reasons that there is no proof of immortal¬ 
ity has only developed one side of himself 
—the side in contact with the external 
w r orld. He knows not what life’s real 
pleasures are, and has no conception of the 
beatitudes of heaven. I am sorry when I 
hear a man say there is no proof of a fu¬ 
ture life. I know his soul is feeding in 
barren fields, and that he never rises above 
the external side of things— 

We go beyond what we can feel, 

Or what we see with outward sight. 

Far keener faculties reveal 

The truth in more resplendent light. 


You say there is no life beyond 
Reason’s narrow, external line. 

Then whence these yearnings, deep and 
fond, 

For things we feel to be divine? 

But little part of all we know 

Is understood from outward things. 
The highest truths to which we go, 

Our keener intuition brings. 

Pray tell me how it is we love, 

If reason sets love’s utmost bound. 

It is an instinct born above, 

Too deep for finite sense to sound. 

Stand by the casket white as snow, 

In which your precious infant sleeps 
The sleep that only death can know. 

Why is it that your spirit weeps? 

O man, there’s something in your soul 
That’s better than you realize, 

That points you to a higher goal, 

Beyond the sweep of earth’s dull skies. 


Nobody keers ’bout goin’ ter de circus, 
yit I notis dat de larges’ tent am too small. 


A lecture ‘"To men only” raises the sus¬ 
picion that men might possibly under very 
strong provocation do something wrong. 


De bes’ way ter tell genewine honesty 
frum de bogus am to drop a five dollah 
bill, den watch to see who pick it up. If 
de findah look all roun’ fo’ puttin’ it in his 
pocket, dat man show simtums ob de rogue. 


When men knowingly, wilfully and per¬ 
sistently break down their health by their 
dissolute habits, they shouldn’t lay it to 
disease germs. The order of “Stay Outs ” 
should place over the door of their club- 
room this motto: “Nature resents an insult.” 


There can never be peace nor prosper¬ 
ity until there comes a complete remodel¬ 
ing of our social system. Our institutions 
must be founded on a broader basis of 
equality and equity. Men may cry anar¬ 
chist against the brave soul that dare lift 
his voice for right, but the adjustment must 
come along natural lines. The resources 
of life are for all. That is the corner 
stone of the perfect social fabric. 










DRIFTWOOD 


7 


Take Him By The Hand. 

Have you a friend whom you would help? 

Don’t preach to him in lofty phrase. 

But take him kindly by the hand 
And lead him into better ways. 

The tearful eye is eloquent, 

And it may lead him to repent. 

The loving word in kindness spoke, 

The touch of palm to palm have might, 
Greater than sermons by the score 
To lead the darkened soul to light. 

Go take the weak one by the hand, 

And you may give him strength to stand. 

He may have had sermons enough, 

A song, a sigh, a tearful plea 
May prove the very things he needs 
To melt the heart and bend the knee 
In attitude of contrite prayer, 

Till he confess God’s love and care. 

’Tis love, not speech, that moulds the heart; 

The sympathetic look or sigh 
May break the stubborn will and make 
Repentant tear to dim the eye. 

A look of trust, too, often may 
Lead people in the better way. 

The special services men hold 
To teach “Eternal Life” to all, 

Receive new strength when Christians tell 
Face to face, about the “Fall,” 

And hand in hand, those they entreat, 
Kindly lead to the “Mercy Seat.” 

I claim redemption, for the world, 

Shall come when Love shall rule the race 
And when the truest brotherhood 
Shall cement hearts in every place; 
When men shall break the chains of clan 
And walk togeather, man with man. 


Evil lurks often in the most unsuspected 
places and persons. This fact, however, 
does not give unlimited license to suspicion. 
We should’nt blind our eyes to good, and 
go around looking for evil with a search¬ 
light. 


Forward and backward sweeps the tide— 
The ebbing tide of life’s dull stream, 
Deep as God’s secrets, and as wide 
As Fancy’s wildest dream. 


It is just as natural for some parents to 
wrangle as for some boys to chew tobacco. 


Life is like a game of checkers; it all 
depends on the move. 


Be True. 

'Tis foolish to let your troubles with men 
alienate your heart toward God and keep 
you a rebel against his authority. 

Live to your thought, 

Like needle to pole. 

Whatever be sought, 

Be true to your soul. 

Make conscience your friend 
To guide you each day, 

And light it will send 
Along your pathway. 

If Christ be your aim, 

Him boldly pursue, 

And to His dear name 
Be loyal and true. 

The world will admire 
The step that you take. 

If love shall inspire 
Confession you make. 


A great many people who sing: “There’s 
sunshine in my soul to-day,” are very care¬ 
ful not to let any of it out. 


Must Decline. 

I’ve made up my mind 
That I will not go 
To see King Edward’s 
Great crowning show. 

I fear I might feel 

Too awkward, you know, 
Togged out in the style 
I would have to go. 

I’ll just send a note 
And politely decline 
The honor with the King 
In shoe buckles to shine. 


If men realized how carelessness in get¬ 
ting to their meals retarded a woman’s 
work and interfered with good order in 
the home, they wouldn’t be so indifferent. 
Indeed if husbands would change work 
with their wives for one day, even, they 
would be glad to pay boot to trade back. 
I don’t care what a man works at, the 
woman that keeps her own house and takes 
care of the children and looks out for the 
comfort of all the inmates, works harder 
than her husband and makes no clamor 
about eight hours for a day’s work. 











X 


DRIFTWOOD 


Money. 

Money’s worth is understood 
Best when we have it not. 

It is an agency of good, 

Yet evil doth it plot. 

It rules the king upon his throne, 

The Judge who ermine wears. 

And makes the statesman often own 
He pays no railroad fares. 

It shuts the mouth of preacher, meek, 
Against the reign of sin, 

And polishes the lawyer’s cheek 
To show the brass within. 

It helps the doctor saw the bone 
Of patient bruised and sore, 

And makes his spirit sadly moan 
Because there are not more. 

It drives the agent all about 
The country, high and low, 

To pound the doors and loudly shout 
His shop-worn wares to show. 

It parts the husband and the wife 
For little petty things; 

It whets assassin’s bloody knife 
And gives black lies white wings. 

Indeed, count up the horrid list 
Of ills that most appall, 

You’ll find no sorrow that is missed, 
And money makes them all. 


Many men love their wives tenderly, 
without letting them know it. But when 
their loved ones shall go out of their 
sight—never out of their memory—they 
will sadly regret they had not been more 
demonstrative. 


Pluck. 

Do not cower; if fortune frown 
Show your power, throw it down, 
The man is he who meets his fate, 
And he alone is up to date. 


There are a great many men who fail to 
get a firm grip on their New Year’s reso¬ 
lution, and it slips away from their grasp. 
They ought to hold on to it with a pair of 
ice-tongs. 


The ambitious man is like the camel; he 
never needs to be told to “hump himself.” 


Often what we reproach others with we 
count a virtue in ourselves. 


New Next Year. 

Old Satan was shy 
Of money, I fear, 

But the things he passed by. 
Will be new next year. 


Avoid all conduct that makes you think 
meanly of yourself. The approval of your 
own conscience is the best recommend you 
can have. 


Old Soldiers’ Day. 

One by one the holidays pass, 

For time rests not with folded wing. 

Swiftly the sands flow through the glass, 
Whatever the fortune they may bring. 

The giving quality of some men is all in 
their suspenders. 

Decay Is Not Death. 

I love to wander in an Autumn forest— 
the solemn October woods. It seems al¬ 
most like walking in a graveyard, so peace¬ 
ful, so calm, so pensive seem everything. 
There is a fragrance, too, that is peculiar, 
yet delicious to me. Softly dripping Octo¬ 
ber skies, like pensive, weeping human 
eyes, are strangely impressive. The varie¬ 
gated foliage, the crisp herbage, the leaves 
lying loosely upon the ground, the moss, 
the mold—all have a fascination that is 
never lost upon my soul. 

These are the sadder aspects of an 
Autumn forest. But there are features of 
animation and exhibitions of sprightly life. 
The chipmunk’s chatter, the squirrel’s chit¬ 
chat, the cricket’s chirp and the crow’s 
hoarse croaking make a medley of voices 
that serves to counteract the more doleful 
features and to appeal to the less morbid 
feelings of the heart. When tired of life’s 
activities, there is no place where I come 
into such perfect harmony of spirit with 
my surroundings, and where I feel so sen¬ 
sibly a reverent mood. I enjoy, too, the 
reflections awakened by the evidences of 
death and decay to be seen in a dismantled 
wood. 

’Tis meet to be sober, 

Since all is not joy, 

But since in each pleasure 
Is found some alloy. 


















DRIFTWOOD 


9 


The Old Man’s Lament. 

Sometimes I fain lie to myself ; 

Deceive myself about my age, 

But when I do, some cramp or pain 
Soon checks my rude and foolish rage. 
And so I have to own, at last, 

That my last quarter-post is past. 

The stiffened joint, the dimming eye 
Admonish me my race is run. 

The fleeter speeders all go by. 

And I can only watch the fun, 

And try in cheerful mood to say : 

“ Just go it boys, I’ve had my day.” 

Then some strange impulse seizes me, 

I seek once more to win the prize. 

I feel young as I used to be ; 

’Tis ambition’s goad—but she lies— 
For when I nerve me for the test. 

The fire dies out in my breast. 


Springtime. 

When winter loosens his fetters— 

His chains of ice that bind the streams— 
And the sun melts away the snow 
That on the sloping hillside gleams, 

My soul soars with the birds that sing 
Their praises to the joyous Spring. 

I walk beside the woodland brook, 

And hear the echos of the glen; 

I gaze upon the cloud-flecked sky ; 

How vain then are the boasts of men ! 
When Nature’s voices echo clear, 

Dull are the ears that do not hear. 

Dumb are the lips that do not sing; 

Dead is the heart that cannot feel 
The sweeter tides of life that flow 

Through veins and nerves as strong as 
steel. 

An ingrate base the man must be, 

That’s dead to Nature’s minstrelsy. 


How few are the laws the Supreme Law¬ 
giver has made to govern the world ; yet 
how many are the statutes men require to 
regulate a single state, or even a munici¬ 
pality ! 


The heart that is never homesick is not 
loyal. 

Proclamation of priest or diploma of 
college is worthless without the effort 
that earns it. A man can buy college 
parchments, but he can’t buy wisdom with¬ 
out labor. 


A Natural Change. 

Sadly we lay our dead away, 

And sorely grieve that they are dead, 
And weep and moan and groan and say 
That we will not be comforted. 

But murmur ever at God’s will, 

So short-sighted we do not know 
That it is better to keep still, 

Since God ordains it shall be so. 

Misapprehension leads astray 

The judgement and the conscience, too 
We’re blind to blessings in our way, 

That we some fancied wrong may woo. 
Death is our friend if we but see 
Its most benign significance. 

In its dominion we are free 

From things that hinder our advance. 

Death by Nature it ordained ; 

’Tis not a change by man decreed. 
Nor by his will is it restrained ; 

Nature proclaims it as a need. 

In all her kingdoms is it known. 

Why then should man sadly complain? 
No higher wisdom is there shown 
Than to confess its wide domain. 


Out Of Place. 

Sprinkle, sprinkle, water cart, 

Yet be sparing of your store 
In the street where dust is thick, 
But sprinkle the crossings more. 
The water company don’t care 
For the water it controls, 

And I am sure you need not spare 
The dainty, white slipper soles. 


The head and the hand make a good 
team if they work together, and the heart 
approve of their methods. 


The most eloquent tongue is the one that 
pleads for the creatures that have no 
speech. He who pleads for dumb animals 
knows that his cause is just. Ambition 
may inspire a man to espouse the cause of 
his fellow men, for he expects praise or 
reward in some way for his efforts. But 
he who champions the rights of the speech¬ 
less, has only the promptings of a pure and 
noble nature. He does not anticipate so 
much as a thankful word from these hum¬ 
ble creatures in whose behalf his sympa¬ 
thies are enlisted. Hence his conduct sug¬ 
gests true nobility of character. A dis¬ 
interested motive sanctifies conduct. 













10 


DRIFTWOOD 


Why Should I Grieve? 

Out of the depths. O God, I cry 
For thy sweet mercy to descend. 

For thou I know art ever nigh. 

And thou art still my friend. 

I see thy smile in Nature’s face, 

I feel thee in the soft June air. 

Where'er I turn, I sense thy grace. 

For thou art everywhere. 

The sweet evangel of the rose, 

Disarms me of my doubt and fear. 

The perfumed, soft south wind that blows 
Is music sweet to hear. 

Why should I sorrow, ’mid such charms 
Appealing to my every sense? 

I need not suffer sin’s alarms, 

Nor live in dread suspense. 

If I shall grieve ’tis that I miss 
The lessons Nature has for me. 

l am too dull to sense the bliss 
The loving heart should see. 


Study Their Needs. 

There are no people in the world so 
contemptible as those persons who want to 
govern everyone else by their own stand¬ 
ards of right. We are of different temp¬ 
eraments. different education, different ex¬ 
perience. and we must all have the privi¬ 
lege of governing our conduct by our sur¬ 
roundings. To attempt to make everybody 
think and do alike, is an attempt to give 
the leaves of an autumn foi'estall the same 
hue. Will humanity ever learn that hu¬ 
man hearts are as varied as a flower gar¬ 
den, or as the colors of the rainbow, or the 
tints of the clouds of a summer sunset? 
The florist don’t treat all plants alike, nor 
can human souls be moulded by an uni¬ 
form standard, or human lives be governed 
by an undeviating policy. The man of 
moral influence is the man that has diplo¬ 
macy sufficient to humor his treatment to 
the needs of his subject. I wouldn’t treat 
an Ute Indian the same as I would deal 
with a newsboy or a bootblack from the 
slums of a great city. We need to study 
men’s needs. Discipline must vary with 
disposition. 


Whatever may be said about “tips,” the 
fish man is sure to have his scale. 


The Girls In White. 

They look angelic dressed in white, 
From hat to dainty shoe. 

The angels must be out of sight 
If that’s the way they do. 

With wings attached I’m sure that they 
St. Peter would surprise, 

And he at Heaven’s gate would say: 
“Come in; it’s no disguise.” 

Despite the preachers who contend 
That angels all are men, 

If like Elijah, they’d ascend, 

’Twould hush disputing then. 


The majority of people spend more time 
trying to hide what they do than in medi¬ 
tating what line of conduct they will or 
should pursue. 


If Fortune smile or if she frown. 
I’m bound to put the goddess down. 
She is imperious well I know, 

But if she rule I will it so. 


Life is too short in this world to spend 
any time quarreling with friends; and 
when life is over and the quarrel is over, 
how bitter is the memory of it. The bit¬ 
terest place in the world to repent is over 
a casket or by a grave. 


Memory Birds. 

’Tis memory fond that makes life fair; 

We live again the scenes of yore. 

We may forget pangs of despair 

And live our pleasures o’er and o’er. 

Turn back in thought to childhood days; 

How full of bliss the shining hours! 
Though rugged since have been life’s 
ways, 

The birds are singing in the bowers. 


"Speaking of anti-fat remedies,” said he, 
“I knew a traveling man so fat the flesh 
lay in wide folds all over his body. He 
used Prof. John Johnson’s Fat Reducer, 
and in just one week he had quit the road. 
Yes, sir, he got so poor the hotels wouldn’t 
keep him. His bones made holes in the 
bedding. Sold everywhere for five dollars 
a bottle; five bottles entitles the purchaser 
to five green trading stamps.” 














DRIFTWOOD 


11 


A Warning Word. 

There never has been a time in the his¬ 
tory of any nation when any considerable 
number of the people raised a warning 
voice against wrong, that they were not 
called revolutionists, traitors, anarchists or 
disturbers of the peace. Instead of ac¬ 
cepting their protests against established 
customs or statutory edicts as a sign of 
dangerous discontent, rulers have ignored 
them or invoked the aid of unjust legal 
provisions to sustain them in their unnat¬ 
ural positions. It is well known that laws 
may be legal that are not equitable, and 
when they become too onerous, the people 
rebel against them, but they always mani¬ 
fest their discontent in a mild way before 
resorting to force or inaugurating revolu¬ 
tion. The wise statesman is he who is able 
and willing to rightly interpret this warn¬ 
ing voice and these mutterings of rebellion 
before it is too late. The masses instinc¬ 
tively know their natural rights to life, lib¬ 
erty and the pursuit of happiness, and they 
will not always submit to be robbed of 
them. The present tendency to employ 
the functions of government in the interest 
of classes or of capital, if not checked, 
will certainly bear its legitimate fruit. The 
right to the use of the land; the privilege 
of enjoying the fruits of their own toil; the 
demand for impartial legislation; the curse 
of combines and the ostracisms of wealth, 
if denied or continued another decade in 
the same spirit of the last half score of 
years, will surely goad the people to des¬ 
peration. Will rulers rightly interpret the 
will of the under millions? It remains to 
be seen. It will not suffice to cry anarch¬ 
ists in this country or any other when the 
people fully awake to the fact that they are 
being robbed of their sole source of sub¬ 
sistence, which is land, as well as being 
discriminated against in the enjoyment of 
all other privileges, including the right to 
respect. The submerged millions in the 
old world would have risen long ere this 
in rebellion against the English landlords, 
only for the fact that a welcome awaited 
them in the new world where better condi¬ 
tions obtained. But at the ratio with which 
British and American capital for the past 


twenty years has been absorbing our soil 
for purposes of speculation and unjust and 
undue advantage, these conditions will not 
longer act as a pacifier of the people, and 
might will again prove right. Muscle is 
stronger than money in the hour of the 
nation’s need. It does not offer a remedy 
to say these conditions have always existed 
—that capital has always been conqueror— 
that the laws must be respected and order 
maintained. Hunger respects no law but 
the law of need; starvation heeds no order 
but the rule of must. The greatest mo¬ 
nopoly is the monopoly of brute force, and 
the people control this trust. Present con¬ 
ditions may continue for a time, possibly 
for years yet, but sooner or later the land 
of the world must go back to the people 
whose patrimony it is, or revolution will 
ensue just as certain as that time is the 
result of the movement of the planets 
through space. It behooves statesmen and 
patriots and lovers of justice and peace 
and humanity, then to consider how best 
this condition shall be brought about. It 
has got to come. It may not be in your 
day or mine, dear reader, but it will be in 
the time of the children of some of you. 
It is inevitable. 


Nature’s Easter Morn. 

The forest brooks have burst their bands. 

And laughing leap away 
Out ’the gloom where the mountain stands, 
Into the light of day. 

So leaps my heart in the golden spring, 
When freed from winter’s chill; 

It sings with the merry birds that sing, 

And leaps with laughing rill. 

Why should my heart be cold as stone? 

Why should my lips be dumb? 

Of all God’s creatures, shall I alone, 

Not sing, since Spring has come? 

There’s not a bud upon the tree, 

There’s not a blade of grass, 

There’s not a bee with wing that’s free, 
But sings, as the hours pass. 

’Tis Nature’s Jubilee, I ween; 

Creation is newborn, 

The voices that I hear, but mean 
It is her Easter morn. 







12 


DRIFTWOOD 


Not A Gold-Paved Route. 

Lives of many men remind us 
We can win fame if we will, 

Then peg out and leave behind us 
Shoes for other frauds to fill. 

Preachers meek and statesmen mighty, 
Lawyers, doctors, judges, too, 

Though their habits may be flighty, 
What’s the odds? ’Tis fame they woo. 

If we steal without compunction 
Of that sentinel within. 

We call conscience, ’tis the function 
Of the world to condone sin. 

Steal a million; that’s the figure 
You at least should aim to reach, 

Or a sum a little bigger. 

If high finance you would teach. 

Then repose upon your laurels. 

Boasting of what you have won, 

Never fear the legal quarrels 

Victims wage for what you’ve done. 

Jurisprudence is misleading. 

Bluff would be a better name. 
Judge’s charge or lawyer’s pleading 
Only dignify the game. 

What are deeds, or lofty feelings ? • 
Money’s magic makes life grand 
Style, with all its strange revealings. 
Only will respect commaud. 

Get the money, O my brother. 

Little matters how ’tis done. 

Men were made to rob each other, 

And the process is just fun. 

Man’s forgiveness, you may buy it. 

If you shell the money out, 

But the road to Heaven—try it. 

Is not all a gold-paved route. 


It is surprising how much a pair of hands 
and an energetic spirit can accomplish in a 
life time, but they must have a favorable 
field in which to expend their energies. 
That proper field is a portion of the earth. 
Given the use of soil, if a man or his fam¬ 
ily want, it is through his own folly. The 
State should enact that every family should 
have the use of land enough to secure sub¬ 
sistence and then make its cultivation com¬ 
pulsory. This is the only labor reform that 
can secure permanent peace. Land pos¬ 
session is the only condition that can insure 
safety for the masses, and sooner or later it 
must come; happily if not through revolu¬ 
tion, 


A Woman’s Estimate. 

Men play at cards and dominoes, 

Or any game you name at all. 

I want to see the man that knows 
Enough to get up when you call. 

They’ll chin and groan and grunt an hour, 
Then growl and swear and grunt some 
more, 

And curse to limit of their power. 

Because you didn’t call before. 

Well, men are queer, I must confess. 
They’ll growl until they have their will, 

And when they have it, then I guess 

Grim death would fail to keep them 
still. 

But, after all, they might be missed 
About the time for doing chores. 

Or buying hats; still I insist 

That they’re the boss of all life’s bores. 

It may be I am indiscreet 

In writing this about the men. 

My Easter plans it may defeat. 

And I be shy a new hat, then. 

Perhaps I better take it back, 

At any rate, I’ll confess this: 

No virtue does my husband lack— 

You can’t hit other men amiss. 

There’s neighbor Elihu Van Slick. 

He stays out nights till break of day. 

What game he plays or what his trick, 

No one is able quite to say. 

He sleeps all day, though baby squalls, 

And stands the tongue of “Mary Ann,’’ 

And only says: “Whate’er befalls, 

I own I’m no domestic man.” 

Perchance, dear reader, you may know 
Some men who travel life’s long lane; 

Have lots of fun; see every show, 

And never think of “Sarah Jane.” 

That’s why I enter my complaint. 

Men are so selfish in their ways. 

Courting, you’d think each one a saint; 
Wed, they fcrget their sparking days. 


The constant grind of responsibility is 
crushing millions finer than dust, for the 
weight of care is heavier than the burden 
of toil. 


If to make money is the test of business 
success, the plunger seems to get there 
ahead of the man who observes correct 
methods. The reckless gambler beats the 
man that bets timidly. 














DRIFTWOOD 


13 


Nature Has No Sunday. 

The reason why, I cannot say 
Nature has no Sabbath day, 

A day above all others blest; 

A sweet and holy day of rest. 

The brook it babbles in its bed. 

The birds they warble overhead, 

The flowers bloom beside the way, 

The same as any other day. 

The winds on mercy missions go, 

The w’heat fields in the plains below, 
Wave their green banners in the air— 

I see no resting anywhere. 

The flocks bleat loud, the cattle low, 
The river through the valleys flow, 
Sunbeams play on the ocean’s breast; 
There’s not a thing that is at rest. 

Why then should I in sober mood 
Refuse to give my soul the food 
It needs, by going forth to praise 
With Nature in her tuneful lays. 

I would not spurn the rights of men. 
They may be right, of course, but then 
Do I do wrong if I shall state 
That Nature I would imitate ? 

I would not put on Sunday face, 

With heart that’s empty quite of grace. 
But I’d go forth in cheerful mood 
To pray and praise with all that’s good. 


When a man goes through the country 
and sees how miserably some people live 
in shanties, with hardly a crust of bread 
with which to bribe the wolf of want from 
showing his gleaming fangs at their door, 
and then beholds others, dwelling in mar¬ 
ble palaces and indulging in unlimited 
luxuries, he concludes that the poverty 
stricken are fools, or else that some of the 
cogs in our social system are out of mesh. 
After all, life is but a span, when it is 
spent, and all flesh makes the same kind 
of dust. 

What are our crowns or crosses then? 
What is place or human power? 

They are bubbles that burst when 
We have played with them an hour. 


However much or little may be implied 
in the injunction, “Wives, obey your hus¬ 
bands,” I don’t believe it is any woman’s 
duty to set herself up as a mark for her 
husband to swear at. 


All May Have The Proof. 

We’re drifting, drifting toward the sea 
Whose boundaries have ne'er been 
shown. 

The name? ’Tis called Eternity, 

And just the name is all that’s known. 

“If only there could come some gleam 
Of sunshine; even for a day, 

Or for an hour; some feeble beam 

Of light, ’twould drive the mists away.” 

Doubt not, O pilgrim, in your fears, 

When you approach the hither shore, 

You’ll see a light; e’en through your tears. 
And you will fear and doubt no more. 

No human soul e’er passed the change 
We call death, but had some light. 

Visions, not altogether strange, 

Greet the enraptured spirit sight. 

You ask me how I know ’tis so? 

I answer: I have had the test. 

Oft to the border-line I go 

To greet my loved ones, long at rest. 

Unfold your spirit senses, all; 

Unveil the spirit eyes to see, 

And death no longer will appall 
With its weird, unsolved mystery. 


Birds, Not Men, Fly. 

Fly to the mountains in the moon; 

Sail where the twinkling stars reside, 
Like Prodigal you’ll come back soon. 
And greatly humbled in your pride, 

You’ll sell your air-ships for old junk. 

Content by rail to get along. 
Ambition’s wine had made you drunk; 
You’ll change the tenor of your song, 

God made the birds, not men, to fly. 

If He had wanted them to soar 
With angel wings before they die, 

They would have had pinions before. 


The Greatest Men. 

The greatest men are they who can 
Win success from little things. 

Not those who shall the boldest plan 
And give ambition freest wings. 

Success is but matured thought 
Along the lines that closest bear 
On deeds, that when they shall be wrought. 
Bring fruitage that the world may share. 


When a wife and mother works till she 
falls into the grave, she can go no further. 
But some husbands worry lest their wives 
rest even then. 











14 


DRIFTWOOD 


Sin Has An Antidote. 

There always are, in every town, 

Some people wise who hold it down 
To standards that are just and right. 
And keep the good and true in sight. 

Amid the din of worldly strife, 

Amid the selfish schemes of life, 
Diviner voices we may hear 
Sweetly ringing loud and clear. 

Where Mammon bolts her iron doors, 
Where felons tread the stony floors, 

The church spire, like a beam of light, 
Directs the heart to things more bright. 

Where vice, her gaudy robe displays, 
To shame the right with her dark ways, 
We hear the voice of praise and song, 
As well as din of vulgar throng. 

Where Poverty with hollow eyes 
And bony hands stretched for supplies. 
Its tale of want and woe shall tell, 

The sound of joy may louder swell. 

So with the rhythm and the rhyme 
Of eulogy or song sublime, 

If we shall hear discordant note, 

We know sin has an antidote. 


Anything that crosses the line of our 
prejudices we antagonize, but when it runs 
parallel with them, we are complaisant. 
It is not truth we are after, but confirma¬ 
tion of opinion. 


It is said that resting is an art. If so, 
the best way to teach the art to poor peo¬ 
ple would be to assure them that their 
wages would go on while they were resting. 


As a rule, the best crowd a man can get 
with is himself or his own family. 


Success. 

Success does not mean to gain 
The things that earth supplies. 
If so, struggle would be in vain; 
Success means to arise. 


The toughs of a city are not the old 
timers of the slums—the old bruisers that 
make their weekly visits to police courts, 
but the boys, from 14 to 20 years. It is 
coming to be a serious problem—what shall 
we do with our young men? 


What Is It? 

What is that mysterious something that 
moulds opinions, despite human will, and 
against the reasoning of human intellects? 
There is a consciousness that goes back of 
experience, and begets thought upon what 
may be called life’s most serious problems. 
We do not will it, but yet we feel a relig¬ 
ious sense; an instinct of worship, that 
dominates us and we passively submit and 
subscribe to the religious sentiments that 
have ruled the ages of the past. We feel 
that there must be some being or power 
outside of ourselves, to which we are 
amenable. The God idea is universal, and 
out of it is formulated systems of worship, 
some one of which all men instinctively 
respect, if not reverence and revere. The 
atheist does not deny God, without a sub¬ 
stitute in some force of Nature, which is 
equivalent to a Supreme Being. Men may 
drift away from dead dogmas of religion, 
but they can never get away from the vital 
force and effect of Christian teachings. 
No matter how wicked a man may be, he 
will step reverently over the threshold of a 
temple of worship, and come, at some per¬ 
iod of his life, to moments of serious re¬ 
flection upon sacred things. This is due to 
that sub-consciousness that is not based on 
experience. 

We know beyond the narrow bound 
That’s limited by sense of sight. 

And ’tis this knowledge, most profound, 
Allies us with the Infinite. 

We feel His presence, though we think 
Along the lines that reason draws, 

And even though upon the brink 
Of indecision, we may pause. 

This inner consciousness abides 
The issues of the skeptic’s art, 

And though the infidel derides. 

This law is written in the heart. 


Divines may dispute about the sex of 
angels, but the average layman will con¬ 
tinue to regard women as angelic just the 
same. Men may claim the sole right to 
wings, but they will have no disposition to 
fly to Heaven if there are no feminine 
angels in Paradise. 













DRIFTWOOD 


15 


All A Show. 

The world is a show 
Where people parade 
The boards, to and fro, 

Till their stunt is played. 

The curtain rolls down; 

The lights flicker low, 

Star, chorus and clown 
Hear the call to go. 

Did they act their parts well ? 

I never may know. 

I only can tell 

’Tisthe end of the show. 

Not the end of the play; 

Other acters will come 
And strut their proud day 
Till they are called home. 

The seasons ne’er end, 

But age after age 
Wit and wisdom blend 
On life’s vaudville stage. 


The steel trust is certainly a big thing, 
whether you spell it steel or steal. 


Pride will carry a silk umbrella to pro¬ 
tect a cheap cotton and wool coat. 


A stitch in time not only saves nine, but 
it would often save a good many cuss words. 


Of course two hands are handy, but the 
very bashful man in company wishes he 
hadn’t any. 

He’s made a slave who wills to be, 

Or he can will to be a man, 

And share the fruits of liberty, 

For that is Nature’s plan. 


Whether Darwin’s theory of evolution 
be true or not, it is certain men are not so 
far removed from the monkey when you 
come to see them both in a cage. 


How Much. 

How much does it cost to get a name 
Catalogued in New York’s Hall of Fame? 
Can a few arbitrary men decide 
Who were great of those who lived and 
died? 

It may be so, but I am daft 

If I don’t think they look for graft. 


An Example. 

Said the flour to the yeast, 

Standing by it in a cup, 

“You must think that you are great, 
When you say you’ll lift me up.” 

I don’t boast that I am great," 
Said the yeast then in reply, 

“But I do my very best 

When I get a chance to try.” 

There’s example for mankind 
In the unpretentious yeast; 
Though our efforts oft may fail, 

We can try our best, at least. 


When we become fully satisfied with 
what we do we will cease doing. 


Dining-room girls are always kicking— 
the swinging doors. 


It is said that the really efficient police¬ 
men—the ones who see things—are the 
ones that frequently take an “eye opener.” 


A strong will may be all right in busi¬ 
ness operations, but a compromising dis¬ 
position is best in domestic relations. 


It is singular people will admit through 
the door of their lips things they know will 
steal their brains. 


Many families live like inharmonious 
animals in a caravan; growling all the 
while through the bars or at the limit of 
their chains. 


In the journey of life there is such a 
place as the point of desperation. It juts 
out into the ocean of Eternity. When a 
man gets there he jumps off. 


Only a drunkard can write the life or 
accurately depict the character of the 
drunkard. Hence the most successful 
temperance orators are men who were at 
some period of their lives addicted to 
their cups. 























16 


DRIFTWOOD 


Hunger's Cry. 

From far off China land 
Comes the distressing cry; 
“Brothers, lend helping hand; 

Give us food or we die. 

We need provisions more, 

That our bodies may be fed, 

Than we need your Christian lore— 
We perish without bread. 

“Missionaries cannot keep 
Starvation from our doors. 

Hunger pangs drive away sleep, 

And strew with dead our floors. 
Your Bibles may be our need; 

Your prayers may do us good, 

But most earnestly we plead 
For life-sustaining food.’’ 


No Rest So Sweet. 

With look mysterious he said, 

And voice a quiver, “He is dead.” 

Fear not, death’s sleep is sweet, profound; 
No noise is heard under the ground. 

No place so still, no rest so sweet 
For heart and brain and hands and feet. 


A Sure Guide. 

A thousand roads lead to despair. 

And few the paths to happiness. 

To reach the latter needs great care; 
The guide thereto is Righteousness. 


The severe lessons of life we would be 
glad to learn by hearsay rather than ex¬ 
perience, but there is where human weak¬ 
ness and divine wisdom antagonize. 


No man can be crooked nights, 
And keep straight days. 

If folly delights, 

Right he betrays. 


Naked truth and nude babies never seem 
embarrassed. It is the grace of innocence. 


Don't Croak. 

The ravenous crows will caw, 
Because ’tis their nature to ; 
But men of brains will not croak 
Because the ravens do. 


The automobile will not be crowned king 
of vehicles so long as horse shows are the 
fad of fashionable women. 


'Twas Gay. 

Her new fall suit was trim and gay, 

The faultless envy of the town, 

Till it was ascertained to be 
A colored and made-over gown. 

And then the people one and all 

With horror turned their heads aside, 
And she was shunned by great and small, 
Because you see the poor thing dyed. 


A demand of the age is some one who 
can make the home as attractive to the av¬ 
erage husband as the club. 


Far better to be dead than half alive. 
A walking corpse is worse than a genuine 
ghost. 


Unwise. 

We’re wont to worry bout crops and 
things, 

But after all the harvest brings 
Abundant bounties to our doors. 

Autumn her horn of plenty pours 
Into our store-house of supplies, 

To prove our fretting most unwise. 


It is a good rule not to be governed too 
much by what you think people think, or 
too confidently go by what you think they 
know. 


It may be observed that the drinking man 
is dry when his eyes water. 


When the undertaker is called on he 
know r s someone will settle. 


Swreet Marjorie. 

As minnows shimmer in the brook, 
When in the stream I fondly look, 

So in your eyes, sweet Marjorie, 

The imps of mischief I can see. 

They hide themselves behind the hue—. 
Behind the veil of softest blue, 

And then anon they dance outright 
And stand, full form, before my sight. 

So I mistrust, dear Marjorie, 

That you are only fooling me. 

And I’m inclined to sternly say 
You must not trifle in that way, 




















DRIFTWOOD 


17 


At Twilight Hour. 

When shades of night are hanging low 
To shut the daylight out, 

’Tis then that I most surely know 
That angels are about. 

I hear the flutter of their wings; 

Their breathings soft and low. 

’Tis music sweet the twilight brings— 
Strains hushed long long ago. 

I hear the voices of my dead, 

In melodies sublime, 

And bend my ear to catch their tread, 

As in the by-gone time. 

The twilight is my hour of praise, 

I sweet communion hold, 

As in the well-remembered days 
Of an unbroken fold. 

“ ’Tis only fancy,” do you say? 

If so, ’tis sweet conceit. 

I love to think that those away, 

In spirit forms we meet. 

We love our dead. What harm, I pray, 
To think that they are near ? 

From heaven to earth how short the 
way— 

They come loved ones to cheer. 

How lonesome is the hearthstone now. 
Where we together sat! 

At twilight hour my head I bow 
And ponder ; it seems that 
I see the white-robed angels come— 

I reach a welcome hand 
To greet them in my cheerless home, 
Back from the Summer Land. 

“ Wicked,” you say ; then sin is sweet, 

I love to go astray, 

If I may walk with those I meet 
Along the border way 
Twixt earth and Heaven. But a breath 
The two worlds separate. 

Parted for aye ! Not so by death— 

I spurn so sad a fate. 


The most singular thing about a fool is 
the fact that he never knows himself that 
he is one. 


Some people are always acting a funeral 
sermon. They are as solemn as the face 
of a boy whose mother makes him stay in 
the house and rock the baby till his father 
comes home to give him a licking for run¬ 
ning away from school. 

Be careful what you tell a telephone , it 
is sure to repeat it. 


The Best Side Out. 

The cloud 'tis said has lining bright— 

A silver lining polished well, 

But why 'tis kept so out of sight. 

It really puzzles one to tell. 

Unlike the cloud, people desire 

To put the bright side out the while, 
They wade through blood or flood or fire 
To show the lining, just for style. 

Kind Nature’s policy they change— 

Her methods turn them quite about, 

In all they do or wear arrange 
Always to put the best side out. 


The majority of men don’t know enough 
to know that woman’s work is hard. What 
is more exhaustive of physical strength, 
mental vigor and nervous energy than the 
care of children? Or what greater draught 
upon a mother’s vitality than the demands 
of a baby ? Yet men seldom stop to think 
about these things, much less try to lighten 
their burdens. 


You have got to lift men and women 
above their sins in their desires and aspi¬ 
rations, before you can place them on a 
higher plane of performance. The work 
of reformation is a process of education 
and unfoldment, not a plan of restraint. 
Purity of thought and speech must precede 
purity of practice. It is a slow process 
making saints by statute. 


“ What is the most durable kind of 
wood?” said a man who wanted to start an 
argument in a hotel one stormy day. 
‘‘Chair bottoms stand the most wear,” re¬ 
plied the clerk as he glanced around the 
office and saw every seat occupied. 


In gaining the best estimate of human 
nature, one should not consult the history 
of the race, religious or profane. Better 
consider the present and look hopefully to 
the future. The past is a record red with 
blood and the flame at the stake. 


Let the past rest in the oblivion of the 
past. Why vex the present with unpleas¬ 
ant memories? 
















DRIFTWOOD 


ts 


He’ll Come Around. 

‘I can drink, or let it alone.” 

We hear about him every day, 

But if we search from zone to zone 
We cannot find the man, someway. 
He’s on a journey, out of town ; 

Gone to the circus, or parade, 

Or at the hotel, drinking down, 

Whisky in his “ lemonade, ” 

He’s like the flea we read about, 

Go where he is, he isn’t there ; 
When he is in, you’ll find him out. 

He’s every place, and yet, nowhere. 
But wait, he’ll come some chilly day 
And will not boast nor talk out loud, 
He’ll be a lump of senseless clay, 

Clad in a casket and a shroud. 


What men learn from books they forget, 
but what they store up by contact with the 
world, stays with them. When a man gets 
beat in a horse trade, or deceived in the 
girl he marries, or licked by the man he 
called a liar, he never forgets it in the 
world. 


Keen Kid —“Ma, do whiskey preserve 
things like salt do ?” 

Mother —“ Yes. my boy; haven’t you 
seen plenty of men with their noses pick- 
led ?” 


Men who think they are the salt of the 
earth, are altogether too fresh, 


All A Bluff. 

'Tis hard for men to understand 
That prosperity is in the land 
When only bankers have the “ sand. ” 

Throughout the country go to-day, 
And you will hear the people say 
“We need the goods, but cannot pay. 

“ For work is light, and wages low, 
And meat is high, and coal; also, 

And working men have little ‘dough.’ 

“ You cannot fool us with such stuff. 
Prosperity (?) we’ve had enough. 

Call in your sample, ’tis a bluff.” 


In no field of activity is confidence so 
often and so woefully misplaced, as when 
one confides in the promise of a man run¬ 
ning for office. 


The Keen Kid, 

‘‘Mama, ” said the keen kid, one day, 
“When papa says he haint a cent 
An’ then steps in a store to pay 
F’r a cigar, is it right, in Lent ? 

“Ef I should do a thing like that, 
You’d say it wuz a wicked lie 
An' lick me like gee-hoss-a-fat. 

An’ say God seen me, in the sky. 

“ Don’t God see pa the same as me? 

Shouldn’t papa, too, repent ? 

Will God let papa go scot free 
F’r tellin’ lies in Lent ? 


In the battle of life we should look fox' 
and help those who are getting the worst 
of it. We should glance over the field to 
find those who are wounded by the shafts 
of disappointment, those pierced by the 
darts of sin and those whom the arrows of 
poverty have wounded to the heart’s core. 
This is the ostensible mission of the church, 
yet contemplate its work in any city and 
you observe its ministrations are to those 
who least need sympathy and assistance, 
while the outcast, the fallen, the degraded, 
are passed by on the other side, and the 
mighty tide of sin sweeps on, bearing mil¬ 
lions on its bosom to death and destruction, 
according to the teachings of that institu¬ 
tion. What minister dare go down into 
the slums and preach the gospel of ever¬ 
lasting life, and carrying the bread that 
feeds heart-hunger, to the harlot ? Alas ! 
not one. 


The True Christian’s Hope. 

I want my life to preach each day 
More than my words may teach. 

I want to live in such a way 
That others I may reach. 

Reach not with words, but by my deed. 
And show my love by meeting need. 

I want a love that yearns for all ; 

A will to work as well as long. 

I want to seek the weak that fall, 

And something do to make them strong. 
The gospel I w’ould fain possess. 

Is one of love and helpfulness. 


People can work themselves up to think 
they believe things they don’t believe at all 
Belief is based on fact; faith on fancy. 














DRIFTWOOD 


The Pop-Corn Man. 

He stands at the corner of the street, 

In a uniform that’s white and neat, 

With a cunning cap upon his head, 

And his cheeks are plump and round and 
red. 

He sings as he shakes his wire pan. 

And the children love the pop-corn man. 

Early and late, he’s at his post. 

All clad in white, like some grim ghost— 
He’s cute and jolly as he can be, 

And every passer-by he’ll see 
As he shakes his little wire pan— 

You can’t escape the pop-corn man. 

His voice is mellow as the tone of a flute 
As he says “ try it once ; I know ’twill suit. 
All salted, and buttered to the taste, 

You’ll eat it in the greatest haste, 

And then come back fast as you can 
To buy some more of the pop-corn man.” 

Ah! what is king or the millionaire ? 

In contentment, neither can compare 
With the jolly man, clad white and neat, 
That stands at the corner of the street, 
And shakes his cute little wire pan— 

Whe wouldn’t be the pop-corn man ? 


The Anxious Child. 

Oh, ma, will we have summer, pray ? 
Now here it is the first of May ; 
Flowers in bloom, the meadows gay— 
At least it ought to be that way. 

I do not want to be the Queen 
Of May, in white and flowers seen. 

I think that I would rather stir 
About, clad in a cloak of fur. 

No, ma, I won’t be Queen of May, 

Lest wrapt in furs, I will not play. 


It is said that when a baboon gets too 
old to help himself, the rest of the tribe 
forsake him utterly. This would seem to 
confirm the theory of a connecting link 
between man and monkey. 


There are great tribulations, and little 
troubles in life, and they are like the snow 
balls children roll; the oftener they are 
turned over, the larger they become. The 
sensible thing to do, is not to revolve them. 


It is singular that ladies will distort their 
figures, and assume grotesque attitudes 
when the most charming pose is the grace 
of nature. 


/* 


The Endless Chain. 

She plays ping pong, golf and croquet. 

Can spar and swim and row. 

But as to work, well, I will say 
She cannot bake nor sew. 

But she’ll become some day, the wife 
Of some admiring man. 

Then soon divorce will end the strife. 
For that’s the modern plan. 

She’ll go back home and not a year 
Of widowhood will pass, 

Before another will appear 
And drop the prefix “ grass. ” 

So on and on, the endless chain 
Of matrimony runs, 

But all the same, life is not vain 
To those who have the funds. 

The world’s a whirlpool, any way, 
Whatever be the end. 

Keep in the swim, and live your day. 
Your money is your friend. 


The most impolitic thing one can do is 
to pass adverse judgement upon a woman's 
baby. She may stand it to have her hus¬ 
band called an old fool, a liar and a thief, 
but she draws the line against slandering 
the baby. 


“Keep Off The Grass.” 

God never marked a plot of ground, 
Threat’ningly, “Keep off the grass,” 

But everywhere and all around, 

He gives his children right to pass. 

'Tis only man that fences in 

A portion that he calls his own, 

And thinks he has a right to win 
A revenue from favors shown. 

Mistaken judgement, though it be, 

The laws of man permit it so. 

But we offend the Deity 

If higher right than He we’d know. 


Fashion is as fickle as sunshine in spring 
time. One’s garments no sooner get prop¬ 
erly adjusted to his corporosity than style 
decrees a change to conform to later stand¬ 
ards, so that it keeps a fastidious person 
betwixt a sweat and a swear all the time. 

O Madame Mode, I pray withold 
A change till clothes at least, get old, 
Or till they’re paid for, at any rate, 
Ere you pronounce them out of date. 














20 


DRIFTWOOD 


Sunshine In The Heart. 

I have sometimes thought that it would 
add significance to all that pertains to the 
nativity of Christ, could his advent have 
been in a less forbidding time of the year. 
If with the songs of the angels could be 
united the voices of Nature in the sighing 
of summer zephyrs, the bursting of buds 
and the unfolding of flowers that make the 
earth beautiful and life a benediction. 
And yet, I know all these things may exist 
in the heart if the fruits of Bethlehem 
take expression in the life. Christ makes 
warmth and sunshine even amidst winter’s 
austerities. 

While on the plains of Bethlehem 
The Shepherds watched at night, 

They saw a star that guided them, 

With more than wonted light. 

To where in humble manger lay 
The Christ-Child long foretold. 

That is the world’s sunshine to-day 
As in the days of old. 


Is there anything new in the world ? 
Can a person even think a thought to-day 
that has not been thought before in some 
period of the past? I question. It may 
be that there is an atmosphere of intelli¬ 
gence that surrounds the world of mind as 
the air we breathe envelopes the physical 
universe, and that we inhale it over and 
over with our mental faculties, as we 
breathe the air of heaven. 


If the products of earth were distributed 
according to need, there could be no want. 
It is evident then that if some suffer, it 
must be attributed to the institutions of 
men and not to God and Nature. Poverty 
is law perverted—the law of being trans¬ 
gressed ; not so much by the individual, 
but by corporations and law-making powers. 


Some men ever foam and fret. 

With nothing to pout about, 
They keep themselves in a pet 
Trying to find nothing out. 


The best meal is the meal that satisfies, 
whether it be a mental feast or a gastro¬ 
nomic layout. 


The Maiden and the Brook. 

“Oh, little brook, how fast you flow. 

As o’er your pebbly bed you go. 

Singing, singing, all the day, 

And never stopping once to play. 

“What makes you hasten on your way, 
With feet so nimble, night and day, 

Your wavelets flashing back the light 
Of mid day sun or moonbeams bright? 

“I don’t see why you need to be 
In such great haste to meet the sea, 

There to be lost in waters blue, 

Where none will know that it is you 

“Pretty the story that you tell, 

And told so oft that you know it well. 

You tell it, too, without mistake, 

To listening willow, moss and brake. 

“I think I’d tarry as I pass 

To play with ferns, pebbles and grass. 

I don’t see why you need be shy, 

And rushing, rushing, hasten by. 

“I’ll be your friend—indeed I’ll be, 

If you will stop and play with me. 

I'm sure that it would not be wrong 
For you to stop rushing along. 

“ Now here’s a pretty mossy bank, 

With willows marshaled all in rank. 

I’ll sit down here if you will be 
My lover, and tell love’s tale to me.’’ 

“Ah pretty maid. I cannot stay, 

I must go rushing on my way. 

A thousand cattle wait for me 

To slack their thirst; ’t won’t do, you see 

“And in the valley, miles below. 

There is a wheel o’er which I flow, 

To turn the mill that grinds the grain 
To feed the people of the plain. 

“There is so much for me to do, 

I cannot stop to tell to you 

Love’s story; though so sw r eet I know, 

Yet such strange things I must forego 

“But in a village I shall pass, 

I’ll meet a lad, my pretty lass. 

I’ll whisper love’s tale in his ear, 

And maybe he will find you here. 

“I’ll tell him of bright eyes that seek 
Love-lit eyes that plainly speak ; 

Of cheeks aglow with love’s soft flame— 
But pray, sweet girl, what is your name? 


Life is a strenuous struggle because we 
try to make more of it than naturally be¬ 
longs to it. Eliminate its fictitious de¬ 
mands and it’s a simple proposition. 
















DRIFTWOOD 


The Old Mine Mule. 

“I’m nothing but a worn out mule ; 

A pile of bones covered with skin, 

I once had flesh, up to the rule, 

But now 'tis gone, or mighty thin. 

“I know not when I first saw light, 

And therefore do not know my age. 

But yet, I think I state it right, 

In fifty years upon the stage. 

“And all this time I’ve pulled my load. 
With only now and then a kick, 

And when I cannot keep the road, 

To starve me, is a shabby trick. 

“But that’s the way; now I’m played out, 
And can no longer pay my way, 

I’m sent adrift, to graze about 
And sadly long for oats and hay. 

“The winter winds are strong and chill, 
And drive me like the thistle down. 

“I'll drift away against the hill 

And help the snow to warm the ground. 

“I’ve lived away my usefulness; 

Why should I think or ask for more? 

’Tis true, it gives me some distress, 

But soon my troubles will be o’er 

My fancy led me thus to hear 
This plaintive story of the mule, 

But though ’tis fancy, yet I fear 
Too many practice by this rule. 


May Be. 

Dear mamma, tell me will you please. 

Who is Old Santa Claus? 

If he climbs chimblys with such ease, 
He mus’ have awful paws, 

His face too mus’ be dreful black; 

Has he a big hump on his back r 

If he should turn to our house, 

Des’ like some horrid spook, 

I’d teep still as a ’ittle mouse 
An’ wouldn’t dast to look. 

But tuddle right down in my bed. 

An’ cuzzer up my eyes and head. 

But I would awsul like to see 
Des’ how Old Santa looks, 

An’ know des’ what he brought to me, 
If doll or picture books. 

An’ mebby I ’ould des’ peep out, 

To see what Santa was about. 


When we stop to consider, death is only 
an event in an endless chain of events in 
the unceasing process of Nature; not a 
thing to be feared, nor a change to be 
dreaded. 


21 


That Vacant Chair. 

I look across the table, now, 

Alas ! that empty chair, 

And then my head in grief I bow. 

And moan in deep despair. 

What would I give could I but see 
That beaming baby face ? 

Home were then Heaven to me, 

Were she in wonted place. 

The angels took my queen away, 

One day at set of sun. 

It did not seem that she could stay, 

So great our love she’d won— 

Shall balm ne’er come ? I cannot say, 
So heavy is my care. 

I look across the board to-day, 

To see that vacant chair. 

We called her “Baby;” ’tis so sweet, 

No other name so dear, 

No other word is there to greet 
And ravish so the ear. 

I wait and listen—.’tis so still, 

And then I moan: “ Oh where 

Is Baby ? Could she come at will, 

Back to that vacant chair ! ” 

Well I remember how she cooed, 

And tossed her feet and hands. 

We sometimes thought she romped too 
rude, 

But heeded her commands. 

We understood her—wife and I— 

Each look or vacant stare. 

But know not why Baby should die 
And leave a vacant chair. 


The Lamp Within. 

My life is like a lamp burned out ; 

The flame is flickering low. 

I wander in the midst of doubt, 

Half blinded as I go. 

And yet I do not go as one 
Who never had the light. 

Though lamp burn low, I see the sun ; 
The future still is bright. 

There is a lamp within my soul, 

I follow all the day. 

It lights my feet to brighter goal. 

I cannot lose my way. 


When a young man and woman are wed, 
if they are mated as well as married, ’tis 
when they are raising their little family 
that heaven seems to bend down and shut 
them in. All of heaven to the young 
mother is in her first baby’s eyes, and all 
of earth to the true husband and father 
centers in his home, 









22 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Coal Barons. 

The coal baron is cold indeed. 

He has no thought for Pity’s plea, 

He does not heed the widow’s need, 

The orphan’s tears he cannot see. 

But there will come a time, some day, 
When all the little frosted feet 

Will haunt, like specters, the highway, 
And chase him in the city street. 

There’ll be no rest from doleful sound 
Of footsteps echoing in his heart; 

On wall, on pave and on the ground, 
He'll hear them; nor will they depart. 

Oh, sad the man by specters chased. 

For evil deeds that he has done; 

By memory specters ever raced, 

From early dawn to setting sun. 

And e’en whose dreams are haunted still. 
Throughout the weary midnight hour, 

And who, by utmost stretch of will, 

To exercise them has no power ! 


Talk no more of woman’s rights, 
She has her rights to-day. 

And she delights in wordy flights, 
The last word she will say. 

What joy is her’s, what hell is his 
When slumber chains enthrall ? 
That curtain lecture—oh, gee whiz ! 
Can man endure all ? 


People should never write love letters 
with indelible ink. 


There is nothing that serves better to 
smooth the asperities of men and put them 
on a level than the simple question: ‘ Have 
you any tobacco ? ” 


Landlord—Yes, there’s one apartment 
for rent in the block. Have you any child¬ 
ren ? 

Applicant—No ; we had a lot, but we 
killed them all before we started out to 
look for a house. 

Landlord—You can have the flat, madam. 


You can’t defame a debased man or 
woman. They are too low for the breath 
of scandal to reach. Nothing but love and 
pity and mercy go down to the lowest 
depths of sin ; and to bestow these, is the 
work of the Christian. 


My Maud. 

My Maud, she is a vain coquette, 

A rogish little elf. 

She likes to keep me in a pet, 

But not to fret, herself. 

She thinks that I must be sedate 
And never flirt at all ; 

That I should only have one mate 
And go at her sweet call. 

And so I said to her, for fun, 

“ A good rule works both ways, ” 

And she replied, when I was done. 
That flirting never pays. 

Therefore, I hold her to the rule, 
And caution her, if she 

Shall have a perfect right to fool, 
She grants the right to me. 

So now we both are circumspect. 
And though ’tis hard for her. 

Against the law she did direct 
She cannot well demur. 


Home Is Heaven. 

Tis not the grand affairs of life, 

The human heart that most delight, 
That stirs it to the deepest depth, 

Or lifts it to sublimest height. 

Not deep research in mystic fields 
Of science, for deep wisdom’s lore, 
The scholar turns from college walls 
For comfort, to the cottage door. 

Ambition’s goal brings not contest. 

And lofty place cannot bring rest. 
When pinnical of fame we reach, 

We find no limit to our quest, 

Nor is there satisfaction found 
Until we look in humbler ways. 

We turn our thoughts back to the place 
Wherein we spent our childhood days. 


Why are automobiles like old maids? 
Because they are full of freaks. 


The Millionaire’s Motto. 

“Tall oaks from little acorns grow, ” 

Great fortunes spring from graft, you know. 
And all great plutocrats like me 
Must learn to rob the race, you see. 


There are many skips and many slips 
And falls along life’s way. 

But wise is he, if, when he trips 
He don’t go down to stay. 


Many church folk worship the priest or 
pastor more than the Master. 















DRIFTWOOD 


23 


When My Sweetheart Is My Wife. 

Oh, I’m longing for the springtime, 
When the robin builds her nest, 

And I wander by the brookside 
With the girl I love the best. 

We sit beneath the willows, 

On the margin of the stream, 

And list’ning to its murmur, 

We indulge love’s fondest dream, 

The brook that softly ripples 
Is love’s symphony, I ween. 

The air is filled with fragrance 
And the sky has golden sheen, 

As sitting ’neath the willows 
On the margin of the stream, 

At the nesting of the robins, 

We indulge love’s fondest dream. 

CHORUS. 

Then welcome, springtime, welcome ! 

’Tis the hey day of my life, 

For I’m dreaming of life’s springtime 
When my sweetheart is my wife, 


Women, no doubt, think they have grave 
questions to consider when they lean on 
the line fence, and discuss church affairs. 
And, after all, don’t the church rest upon 
woman’s shoulders ? Take women out of 
that institution, and what would be left ? 
A lot of old fossil men that couldn’t engi¬ 
neer a gospel wagon. It takes a good deal 
of executive ability, even, to manage a 
church social, say nothing about raising 
the pastor’s salary, keeping harmony in the 
choir, and keeping the spiritual zeal up to 
a standard that shuts out scandal. 


At The Journey’s End. 

Rest, weary heart, a long sweet rest 
For valiant duty done. 

In battle you have stood the test 
And oft the vict’ry won. 

Life’s battle has been fierce, I know. 

But to your colors true, 

In action you were prompt to go ; 

I could depend on you. 

Ungrateful would I be indeed 
To ask one effort more, 

Or further urge you to proceed— 
I’m glad the struggle’s o’er. 

Together then we’ll go to rest, 

And bide a common fate. 

If peace enfold or pain molest, 

We will not separate. 


The New Birth. 

Infancy demands love ; youth admiration; 
age, veneration; and death, awe. And yet. 
the latter feeling is only educational, it is 
not intuitive. We have been wont to sur 
round death with such marked demonstra¬ 
tions of grief, that it has become truly the 
“ King of Terrors.” This is all wrong ; 
death is only a new birth—being born from 
the material into the spiritual world, and 
is a natural change in the evolution of mat 
ter. Birth into spirit life is no more for¬ 
tuitous than being born into physical life, 
and never affects the individual only for 
the better. I would banish the insignia of 
sorrow on funeral occasions, and introduce 
emblems of hope and joy and perpetual 
life.— 

Bring flowers and birds and cheerful song, 
Instead of pall and bier and tear, 

When I am called to join the throng 
Triumphant to a higher sphere. 

For death is only change of form, 

Like butterfly from chrysalis state ; 

Nor does it ever portend harm 

To those who cheerfully watch and wait 


Love is life. The soul that does not 
know its outgushing and its inflow, cannot 
enjoy earth, and will not be happy in Heav¬ 
en. Love is the food of the soul ; without 
it, it cannot thrive in any of its faculties, 
feelings or functions. I pity the poor spirit 
that goes into the higher life heart-starved; 
and yet the world is full of hungry hearts. 
Will they never meet their wants ? In the 
eons of Eternity, it must be God has made 
full provision for perfect unfoldment. De¬ 
mand is adjusted to supply, though it may¬ 
be a long time before full and complete 
reciprocity is established. Think not, O 
soul, whose longing has never been met. 
that you will never meet your affinity. 
You will, as true as God lives. 


Some people who profess religion, are 
terribly afraid the world will find it out. 


The hired girl that is always singing, 
you can safely calculate has some trouble 
on her mind, or something in her trunk, 
that don’t belong there. 













24 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Way That You Do It. 

If you rob the public through a bank, 

No matter how creditors view it. 

If you save the money you’r all right, 

It’s all in the way that you do it. 

If you prize the theater more than church, 
And if secretly you pursue it, 

When in the city—well never mind— 

It’s all in the way that you do it. 

If you court a girl and win her love, 

And then afterwards you should rue it, 
Jilt her for a girl that’s better heeled. 

It’s all in the way that you do it. 

If you love the cook more than your 
wife— 

How many men plainly show it— 

Send wife to the seashore for her health. 
It’s all in the way that you do it. 

If you win a girl and use her wealth, 
Whenever you’re ready to do it. 
Apply to the courts for a divorce. 

It’s all in the way that you view it. 

If credit you get at a bank or store, 
Before your creditors sue it, 

Turn the homestead over to your wife, 
It’s all in the way that you do it. 

If whiskey you drink like a lord or duke, 
And don’t want people to know it, 
Have it sent up to your hotel room, 

It’s all in the way that you do it. 

If where you stop, you chin with the girls, 
When they bring the hash and throw it, 
Employ all your arts to make a mash, 

It’s all in the way that you do it. 


Of what gender is the bicycle? Why, 
feminine of course. Don’t it take the 
whole sidewalk? 


We tire of sameness. Even a pleasing 
service and a welcome duty become irk¬ 
some and distasteful continued too long. 


Despondency is the straight road to de¬ 
struction. 


He who does the will of God respects 
the will of men. 


When a man can’t find anything but 
himself to talk about, he has a very shal¬ 
low subject. 


Why Should We? 

‘ Though seedy be his coat and hat, 

A man’s a man for all of that.” 

If he but have within his breast 
The thought of good, God does the rest. 
For every impulse that men show 
Of love, He fans to brighter glow. 

The pure feelings of the heart 
God will encourage when they start. 
Then let us not judge men by clothes. 
But by the inner fire that glows. 

Heaven or hell for every one 
Depends on what is thought and done. 


There can be no doubt that the Sisters 
of Charity do a world of good, but it seems 
as if their usefulness might be enhanced if 
they would adopt some less sepulchral 
garb. 


The difference between the politician 
and the statesman is this: The one studies 
the needs of his party; the other studies 
the needs of humanity. We have no 
statesmen. 


One trouble with this country is, there 
are too many men who are obliged to sell 
their conscience at a ruinous valuation. 


From the modern view point, the worst 
sin is the sin of getting found out. 


I’d Bid Him In. 

If death knocked at my door, 
I wonder would I say 
Depart unbidden guest, 

This is my busy day. 

I think I’d bid him in 

And royal greeting give. 

In dying we begin 

The higher life to live. 


There is scarcely a more pitiable object 
than an educated idiot or a college bred 
sport that sticks a postage stamp on the 
back of his head, parts his hair in the 
middle and combs it down into his eyes. 
I never meet one of these dilettante dudes 
but that I wonder how he escaped the fool 
killer. 
















DRIFTWOOD 


25 


Whom Do We Meet. 

Whom do we meet in city street ? 

The merchant, the gambler, the priest, 
Rushing along with flying feet 
To store, to den or to feast. 

Whom do we meet in a city street ? 

The wife, the madam, the maid. 
Greeting with smile the men they meet, 
And having a dress parade. 

Whom do we meet in a city street ? 

The lawyer, the doctor, the thief. 
Thinking of those they help to beat 
With booty, with pills or brief. 

Whom do we meet in a city street ? 

The rich who never know care, 

And the poor, pleading for food to eat 
And begging for clothes to wear. 

Whom do we meet in a city street ? 

The aged, the young and the bold 
Going their way with dancing feet 
Or moping step of the old. 

Whom do we meet in a city street ? 

We meet the world, in a way. 

Its follies or its graces sweet. 

Which greet, and which hold at bay ? 


How Great The Change. 

How great the change since ’76 ! 

’Tis easy quite to see 
The change that’s taken place betwixt 
Things now and as they used to be. 

Then politicians had some sense ; 

Statesmen disdained to graft, 

And Presidents thought of expense 
Nor bowed to golden calf. 

Religion had a deeper hold 
On conscience then than now, 

And cheating was not done so bold— 
Church members heeded vow. 

But now things seem to be awry ; 

We know not where we’re at. 

With flying machines we sail the sky— 
The old way is too flat. 


No more sacred trust by God imposed 
can there be, than that of parent raising 
children. Alas ! how many betray it. Be¬ 
tray it by their example, their conversation, 
their counsel and their care. And, worst 
of all, in their lack of judicious govern¬ 
ment. 

A horse won’t drink when not thirsty, 
but a man will. 


Out Of Sight. 

The way that women dress to-day, 

No wonder rude men stare and say: 

“ Women are social acrobats.” 

But little matter what men declare, 
Though women wear rats in their hair. 
They do not talk through their hats. 

The women go with heads quite bare, 
Upon the street, and everywhere ; 

Only in churches do we find 
They wear a millinery store 
That shuts out everything before 
The men who sit behind. 

I went to church to hear and see 
A soloist who was said to be 
The finest in all the land. 

I heard an echo on the air— 

From whence it came I could not swear. 
But women said that it was grand. 

And so I uttered not a word, 

And yet it seemed to me absurd, 

When I applied the worship test. 
There didn’t seem to me to be 
The merest hint of piety 
Or aught that promised sweet soul rest. 

But now and then I caught a gleam 
Of saintly grace that seemed to beam 
Upon the preacher’s upturnd face. 
But when he dropped his countenance, 
’Twas only then by merest chance 
That one could see him in his place. 


Premonition. 

“ Gobble, gobble,” said the gobbler. 
Roosting high up in a tree. 

“ Well I know that I am spotted ; 
Lustful eyes are bent on me. 

“ I escaped Thanksgiving slaughter. 

But alas ! the Christmas tide ! 

Well I know that I am slated 
To be roasted or fried. 

“ I can see the block and cleaver. 

And the nasty butcher man, 

And I know on Christmas morning, 

I’ll be in the frying-pan. 

“ Soon my bones will be bleaching 
On the ash-heap in the yard. 

Such is Christian Christmas teaching— 
Holly mistletoe ! ’tis hard.” 


It would be as difficult to find an affianc¬ 
ed girl that wasn’t engaged to the “ best 
man in the world ” as to locate the young 
mother that hadn’t the sweetest baby ever 
born. 













26 


DRIFTWOOD 


’Tis Work. 

Tis work that makes the world go 'round 
—The social world, I mean— 

The sage or deep philosopher 
Can’t even shift a scene. 

They may perchance their plans evolve. 
And laws they may enact, 

But labor we depend upon 
For every vital fact. 

The millionaire may furnish funds 
To build the temple grand. 

'Tis but an image of his brain, 

Without mechanic’s hand. 

And e’en the money that he has ; 

The gold he vaunts about, 

Is useless ore until the hand 
Of labor brings it out. 

The grain that’s held in mammoth bins. 
Storehouse or other place, 

But represents the drops of sweat 
That fell from someone’s face. 

Then let us raise our peans loud, 

To men who nobly toil 

In factory, or mine, or store, 

Or those who till the soil. 

These are the heroes of our land, 

Who should fame’s chaplet wear, 

Instead of statesmen, priest or king— 

The men who do and dare. 


A Common Practice. 

Listen to the loud click, click, 

Of the printing-office shears. 

’Tis the editor’s cunning trick, 

That in the printed page appears. 

But don’t be too hard on him 
For cribbing copy for the press. 

He’s but a grown-up “ Sunny Jim,” 

And don’t mean anything mean, I 
guess. 


Time is money, but its value depends of 
course on what you want to do with it. 
You call on some housewives to show them 
articles that would enable them to save 
time, and they make the plea, “ very busy, 
no time, ” but they have time to hang their 
chins over the garden wall in gossip with 
their neighbors for an hour every forenoon. 


Nothing leads people further from cor¬ 
rect judgement of others, than the habit 
of estimating them by their own preferen¬ 
ces, prejudices and conduct. 


The Swallow. 

The chirping swallow, 

Darting here and there, 
Snatching his supper 

From the ground and air ! 
Who would not feed 
The provident bird, 

For flash of wing 

And his chirp that’s heard ? 

Who would not scatter 
Seed by the way, 

And bid him to come 
Again some day. 

And sit on his perch 
In the maple tree, 

And sing his “ hip, chip, ” 

So merrily ? 

Bird, active as he, 

And merry, the while. 

May teach you and me. 

Would w r e heed his style. 
Only at night 

Does he cease to sing, 

When his merry bill 
Is under his wing. 


We Get It Here. 

“ Don’t bother me, ” said deacon Jones 
Who was in frantic state of mind, 

“ Vile ‘ rheumatiz ’ is in my bones. 

And I would rather be stone blind. 

I know that I ought not to swear— 

At least where any one could hear— 
But I am willing to declare 

If there’s a hell we get it here. ” 


In pursuing wealth no one has a right to 
take the road up after him, like a pontoon 
bridge, and have everything his own way. 
This is why trusts are wrong. Equal 
chance is Nature’s law. 


You may lay the foundation of character 
broad, and build the temple high, but if it 
stand the test of time, love and human 
sympathy must cement the walls. 


There’s little need to whine and weep 
Because you have some trouble, 
Better lie down and go to sleep ; 
Worry makes trouble double. 


Prisoners are said to live on milk and 
water, but how are they different from the 
milk man’s customers ? There is no cream 
on this joke. 












DRIFTWOOD 


27 


Charity Not Always Best. 

Wide as the bending sky above 
Is Charity’s loud appeal, 

And silent as the voice of love, 
Response of those who feel. 

Yet charity may not be best 
For those who sorrow meet, 

And pity may not be the test 
That proves the most discreet. 

Base indolence may make the plea 
That outrages the right. 

And pity often we can see 
Leads men away from light. 


Overdrawn. 

It came a little late, ’tis true— 

’Twas not a present rich and rare— 
My auto payment, “ over due.” 

That it was past, I was aware. 

I pondered how the cash to raise— 

My bank account was short, you see— 
Christmas demands in many ways, 
Outrun deposits made by me. 


On The Border Line. 

We’ve had our day ; what need we now, 
But its stern lessons to apply, 

That we may know the better how 
To live when we come to die ? 


This is a great world, yet in cities people 
crowd for space, while millions of acres of 
land go to waste. Some day that condition 
will have to change. 


When people get old nobody cares for 
them. Yet they are not left without re¬ 
sources of enjoyment within themselves. 
Thank God for such a benificent provision. 


It is a fact men who succeed, 

Think more of practice than of creed, 
And those who rise with strength and 
speed, 

Owe their ascension to their deed. 


There are few stage stars so brilliant 
that they absolutely dazzle the eyes of the 
theater-goer to that extent that he can’t see 
the woman who refuses to remove her hat. 


A good rule to go by : hear all you can, 
but be careful what you say about it. 


Fame. 

I’ve struggled hard, and long, and well. 
To win the meed of fame. 

At last the silent stone shall tell 
My death, my age, my name. 

Applause of men ; admiring gaze, 

And much that I have known, 

The sculptor’s chisel cannot blaze 
Into unfeeling stone. 

Name must be graven in the heart 
Of those we helped to cheer. 

If we have done a brother’s part, 

It will outlive us here. 


No Time. 

Away, away,” said Sammy Small, 
“ I have no time for work at all. 

I scorn the use of spade or hoe, 
For I have my wild-oats to sow. 
I’ve been a very busy man, 

Since I became a baseball fan. ” 


The Bum’s Great Need. 

I never think I’m down and out 
Until I reach that awful time 
When I am choked to death, about, 
And I am shy the needed dime. 


Needed Grace. 

Time traces furrows in the face, 
Sorrow leaves its footprints there, 
But all may have the needed grace 
To drive away despair. 


In these times of trolly travel and pic¬ 
ture shows, the folding baby-carriage em¬ 
phasizes the statement that “ necessity is 
the mother of invention.” 


I will never endorse propositions I know 
to be fallacies, even though I lose in many 
ways by my obstinacy. 


Death is the doom of all. Why then 
should it be a cause of regret to any? All 
nature dies, but only in the sense that 
death is a change. 


The wise woman will dress for comfort 
rather than conquest. 


The busiest people in the world are the 
people that have no business. 




















28 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Postal Service. 

Man’s View : 

Some think it is a pleasure great 
To get a letter with each mail, 

But I am here to sternly state 
I wish the post-office would fail. 

It oft reminds me that I owe 
A little here, a little there, 

And everybody wants to know 
If I have any cash to spare. 

So I will make petition bold 

To have the postal service stop. 

It does not pay, as I’ve been told— 

But will the boodlers let it drop ? 

“ Tis sweet to be remembered.” true. 

Unless it is for bills, you owe. 

And then, according to my view, 

To be forgotten—’tis better so.” 

Woman’s View: 

Letters oft touch on sundry things, 

And to the maiden, young, I know 
Missives that fly with their white wings. 
The truest friendship often show. 

And they are prized beyond the power 
Of any one to estimate. 

They lighten oft a heavy hour, 

With facts or fancies they relate. 

A letter from a lover, who 

Don’t read its pages o’er and o’er ? 

Each glowing line the eyes pursue 
Is filled with love’s deep, artless lore. 

Our friendship tokens all, we keep 
With ribbons tied and laid away, 

And read them o’er and o’er, and weep 
As only heart-sick women may. 

But best of all is that sweet hour 

That brings the giddy “ mail man” near. 
We seem endued with special power 
When his shrill whistle we may hear. 

The men who walk the streets, in gray. 

We fashion idols out of them, 

It heals our sorrows if we may 

But touch their rusty garment’s hem. 

We stop them every chance we get, 

And fondly gossip at the gate. 

Of course it makes our husbands fret, 

If quite too warm becomes debate. 

It matters not if Teddy gain, 

Or if he lose, election day, 

If so the “ mail man” shall remain. 

And things go on the same old way. 


A quarrel is an attack of the tongue 
“ sicked ” on by the temper. 


No Ostentation. 

The rose in blossom doth not know 
Its odor on the air. 

So human hearts ought not to show 
The burden of their care, 

But breathe the perfume of their love 
Upon the heart that bleeds, 

Silent as from star above 
The ray of light proceeds. 

The great results Nature achieves, 

Make no acclaim of style. 

The forest spreads its wealth of leaves. 

The fields with verdure smile. 

The moonbeams move the ocean’s tides— 
We know not how ’tis done— 

Without a sound some power guides 
The planets around the sun. 


If woman has the last word, as men are 
fond of crediting her with, it isn’t always 
the meanest. 


Perennial Youth. 

Because some betray 
The faith they profess. 
Should not lead the way 
For all to transgress. 

I claim that Truth 
Has perennial youth. 


Chickens, they say, come home to roost. 
If that be really so, they show better sense 
than many married men. 


That life is a failure that does not apply 
to the heart some useful lesson in every 
day’s experience. 


There are human buzzards that fly around 
Over city and through the town, 

To light on filthy spots of ground, 

And gulp their putrid pickings down. 


Don’t worry about the millionaire. The 
auto is killing them off about as fast as 
could be expected. 


Man’s inhumanity to woman, makes 
countless millions of mothers miserable. 


A man isn’t highly connected because he 
is attached by a rope to a gallows. 













DRIFTWOOD 


29 


Too Much Gab. 

I’ve traveled East, and traveled West, 
And traveled North and South, 

And found that he gets on the best 
Who keeps the closest mouth. 

By gab and gossip, here and there, 
Men often go astray, 

And greater share of earth’s despair 
Comes from what people say. 

There’s Mr. Brown and Mrs. Black, 
From morn till night they gab, 

And all they say amounts, alack ! 

To nothing more than blab, 

I know that men delight to say 
Gossips are feminine. 

But I am here to say to-day 
That some are masculine. 


The Test. 

Her hat poked out in front three feet. 
Perhaps a very little more. 

She sat upon the grand-stand seat, 

But didn’t see him make a score. 

It was her lover ; but someway, 

He seemed to lose his wonted nerve. 

It filled her heart with deep dismay— 
He failed so on the pitcher’s curve. 

Sweet sleep departed from her eyes 
That night, as it ne’er had before. 

She pondered if it would be wise 
To wed a man that couldn’t score. 


The world may misjudge or condemn 
your conduct, but if you rely on the purity 
of your motive, and the approval of your 
conscience, its criticism will amuse rather 
than annoy. 


If I shall miss the good, life brings, 
And fail to sail with crippled wings, 
’Tis not by nature I’m a fool ; 

I misapplied my time in school. 


Wrong methods will bring wrong results 
every time, whether it be in business, the 
home, the state or the nation. 


People who reap the fruit of their sow¬ 
ing should find no fault with the harvest. 

You may not make New Year resolutions, 
but it’s a good time to indulge in re¬ 
flections. 


A Bit Of Sentiment. 

There are many things real in the realm 
of fancy. Indeed. I sometimes think the 
shadow is the substance, and the unseen, 
the only thing really palpable. At all 
events, it does no harm to indulge senti¬ 
ment, even in a sensuous life. If all men 
dreamed more, fewer would be groveling 
and gross and greedy to a degree so shock¬ 
ing. I often see a silver lining to clouds 
that are murky as midnight to others. That 
all may look for this silver lining in the 
gloomy clouds of sorrow, is my hearty wish. 

The heart may feel a sense of strength, 
When partial clouds darken our way. 
This consciousness will lead, at length, 

To where perpetual sunbeams play. 

There’s impulse equal to the task, 

If it shall not be crowded down ; 

The confidence with which we ask, 
Secures for us the desired crown. 

I’ve learned the secret of success. 

And how to conquer adverse fate. 

I find those things alone distress, 

A quickened conscience bids me hate. 

I take but little thought of creeds, 

To mould the model of a man, 

I find they do not meet my needs 
Howe’er their formulas I scan. 

'Tis Nature that my soul inspires, 

And leads me up the shining way 
Where glow Mount Pisgah’s sacred fires ; 
And at her shrines I kneel and pray. 


The Tin Dinner Pail. 

I don’t know that I have the right con¬ 
ception, but it seems to me that the na¬ 
tion’s greatness rests largely under the lid 
of the working man’s dinner pail. Yet I 
know it is not recognized, and commands 
no respect. 

’Tis the emblem of greatness— 

The tin dinner pail— 

Though symbol of meekness, 

Its power will prevail. 

Then, toiler, fear not ; be bold to assail 
Reflections cast on the tin dinner pail. 


There are lots of women that buy things 
in their homes they don’t need a bit more 
than Eve needed a clothes wringer, and no 
more useful than a steam calliope would 
be in Heaven, 















30 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Last Time Forever. 

Men go in and out the doors of their 
homes, their offices, their stores, market 
places, shops and meeting houses, but how 
sad the reflection that there shall come a 
time when they shall go out of the doors 
of their homes for the last time forever ! 
When that event takes place, how it trans¬ 
forms everything ! Praise is changed to 
lamentation ; grace gives place to grief 
and triumph is obscured by tears. Espe¬ 
cially is this the case where the absent one 
was endeared to the remaining inmates by 
the tender ties of kinship, or fond memo¬ 
ries of all that is implied in the hallowed 
words of husband or wife or father or 
mother or brother or sister ; gone out of 
the house for the last time forever ! In 
vain anxious eyes look, eager ears listen, 
and then returns the reflection that changes 
sunshine to shadow in every room of the 
house and along every walk about the 
premises— 

Sadly moans the wind ; 

The sun through the pane, 

Does not seem so kind, 

Nor the snow nor the rain. 

The birds do not sing 
The same as of yore, 

Nor the sweet flowers spring 
The same by the door. 

The vines do not cling 

Close to casement or frame ; 

Not a single bright thing 

On the lawn seems the same. 

But the heart must be disciplined to sor¬ 
row and the tear brushed away to give 
keener vision of duty ; and the man is a 
hero or the woman a heroine who shall 
still pursue the trend of life, faithful to 
every obligation and loyal to every sacred 
relationship. Not only is the home trans¬ 
formed, but the office, the store and the 
shop are not the same to the public. How 
many, many times you go into the store be¬ 
fore you become reconciled to the fact 
that the familiar form that had greeted you, 
perhaps for 40 or 50 years, behind the 
counter or at the desk, is no longer there. 
You look about the room ; the counters, the 
shelves, the desk, all are in wonted place, 
and you forget, for a minute, that the busi¬ 


ness sign over the door has been changed, 
and books opened with a new firm name. 
But the world goes on—goes on. Who 
shall say how long men shall continue to 
go out of the doors of their homes or their 
places of business for the last time forever? 
All this may be all right as a flash of senti¬ 
ment, but it is remarkable after all, how 
soon we forget. It is better so ; else would 
business lag and life become a drag. It 
emphasizes the fact that God supports the 
heart, so tender in its impulses, with the 
needed grace and fortitude to meet every 
seeming chastisement. Men forget, but 
they forgive, and when we study human 
nature closely, we discover much that allies 
us with the Infinite, and however much we 
may see of evil, due to environment or 
lack of will power, we will find more of 
good, if we look for it, even in those we 
call depraved. God does nothing for chas¬ 
tisement, nor by special providence, and 
whatever transpires in the process of na¬ 
ture, is due to the divine law of evolution 
which ultimates in higher good. We may 
not see it, may not understand it, but the 
world wants to rid itself of the belief in 
special providences. Then cruel Fate is 
only kind Fact under the divine law. We 
will know how to live when we learn how 
to obey, and cease to think something must 
be done to propitiate an offended Deity. 

There is no Fate that is unkind ; 

No God that is severe, 

’Tis only when we fail to find 

The trend of law, we need fear. 


Environment of Birth. 

There are two grades on which life pro¬ 
ceeds. One is up ; the other down, and 
millions take the down grade. Not because 
they want to, but because they didn’t get 
the right start. 


Must Be Brave. 

’Tis all a struggle and a strife 
From cradle to the grave, 

And all who play the game of life 
Must indeed be brave. 


A current event—an electrocution. 









DRIFTWOOD 


31 


On The Farm. 

When autumn’s hazy atmosphere 
Envelopes all the woodland ways, 

And when the forests, far and near, 

With flaming torches are ablaze, 
Nature has special charms for me, 

And in the country I would be. 

The cricket chirping in the wall. 

The caw of crow on distant hill, 

The murmur of the waterfall, 

The ripple of the mountain rill. 
Enthrall me with their magic spell, 

The charm of which no words can tell. 

I see the shocks of ripened corn, 

Pumpkins that dot the field with gold, 
And by the cider mill, at morn, 

Great heaps of apples I behold, 

And then I think of winter’s cheer, 

With bin and cellar filled, what fear ? 

I see the flocks that graze the plain, 

And hear the tinkle of the bell, 

And watch the cows mope down the lane, 
To slake their thirst at flowing well, 
And yield to touch of milkmaid’s hand, 
The finest nectar in the land. 


There Is No Substitute. 

When one thing gives out nature seems 
to furnish a substitute for everything but 
breath in the human body. When that 
fails in the function of respiration, the 
genius of man has found nothing in her 
chemical laboratory, or in her vast range 
of elements that could keep the machinery 
of the body running. God, in His infinite 
power, may perpetuate life in higher forms, 
indefinitely, for anything we know, but so 
far as life on the earth sphere is concerned, 
there is no substitute for breath. We 
might deduce from the foregoing, the moral: 
don’t waste so precious a thing as breath, 
in idle gossip or in blowing hot air. Re¬ 
member you can’t substitute as in articles 
of diet ; when beef is cornered by the 
great trusts, eat mule meat. 


The body forms habits the same as the 
mind, and any physical function, neglected, 
will be resented in the loss of health. 


The strong men of the country stand on 
the shoulders of the weak. If the founda¬ 
tion would only crumble, it would be bet¬ 
ter for all. 


Moving Pictures. 

It may seem presumptous for a person to 
adversely criticise anything that seems to 
win popular favor, nevertheless, approval 
is by no means a sure test of merit. I con¬ 
demn as decidedly injurious to public 
morals, the moving picture shows that are 
to-day carrying the public off its feet. 
The result may not be immediately per¬ 
ceived, but the exhibitions of bandit life, 
of the character of the desperado, the 
Indian nature and scenes of frontier life, 
can have no other effect than to stimulate 
in the boy a desire for similar experiences. 
We see this impulse cropping out in boy 
character in every town where the moving 
picture show is running every afternoon 
and night six days in the week. What 
shall we say of the influence over the char¬ 
acter and the life of girls who witness the 
love scenes, the hugging and passionate 
kissing, the treachery, the deceits and the 
duplicity of social life the film throws upon 
the white surface behind the drop curtain 
of the 5 and io cent theater ? It is only a 
question of a short time when the majority 
of pictures now running, will be condemn¬ 
ed as decidedly demoralizing. It ought to 
have been done long ere this. 


Academy Girls. 

What is there in life’s varied whirls 
That is more bewitching to behold 
Than a lot of Academy girls 

From sixteen to twenty years old ? 
They simper and giggle and smirk, 

And are up to everything but work. 

I meet them almost every day, 

In the street cars, with lunch and 
books, 

Chatting and giggling the same old way— 
“ Innocent!” Yes, but how it looks ; 

I wonder what good of what they learn, 
When at life’s labor they take their turn. 

But, after all, they’re sweet sixteen, 

And though a rapid race they run, 
'Twould simply be unwonted spleen 
To make protest against their fun. 
Without the girls we must confess 
That life would be quite valueless. 


The best things in life come in small 
packages. 












32 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Workingman’s Prophecy. 

I’d like to feel the zest of cheer, 

And know once more that I was free 
From the distorting rack of fear, 

And debt’s consuming misery. 

Alas ! How few to-day that know 
What is implied in Freedom’s name. 

The workingman has little show 
For gaining riches or for fame. 

There was a time in this fair land, 

When workingmen could earn their bread, 
And have some ground on which to stand, 
And decent roof above their head. 

But land-sharks now have seized the soil. 
To hold for speculation’s aim. 

The bounties of nature is their spoil ; 

To plunder the masses is their game. 

Yet, justice shall not always sleep, 

And men be goaded to the grave 
There is a murmur rumbling deep; 

An ominous sound like ocean’s wave. 

In basements dingy under ground, 

Nor heated garrets in the sky, 

Forever, shall workingmen be found ; 

The time to repossess draws nigh. 

I prophesy this boon for all, 

Ere two decades shall pass away, 

The things to-day, that so appall. 

Shall pass, and toilers have their day. 

Then Freedom’s peans shall resound. 

And Freedom’s banners wave on high, 
And workingmen, the world around, 

Shall raise the victor’s joyous cry. 


False Estimates. 

Our tribulations, oh how great! 

Life’s blessings, oh how few ! 

Our troubles we so overstate, 

They hide our joys from view. 

Each little cross we have to bear, 
Assumes enormous size. 

We count our burdens, in despair, 
But cannot see the prize. 

The hero, is the man who dare 
Face trials great or small, 

Who will not yield to dumb despair 
Whatever may befall. 


The man who thinks his business is not 
his wife’s business, has no conception of 
what the marriage compact implies. 


Divorces generally grow out of the fact 
that a third party lips in. 


An Evening Reflection. 

Another day has passed away, 

Its trial and its care. 

I’m that much nearer Heaven’s door— 
But what awaits me there ? 

I will not worry ; whate’er my fate, 

If good or bad it be, 

I know that God is good as great, 

And He’ll be just with me. 

He’ll measure merit of my deeds. 

And scan temptations, too. 

He’ll take into account my needs— 
The balance will be true. 

The judgement of the world is weak. 
And biased oft by spite. 

Higher tribunal, just and meek. 
Adjudicates the right. 


Greatest Of All. 

Great achievements ! That is great 
That does the world some good. 

The rule by which I estimate 
All men, is Brotherhood. 

Who do the most for humankind, 

By thought, or word, or deed, 

Are greatest of all you will find, 

And have the grandest creed. 

Thought may not have sublimest scope, 
Nor deed win loud applause, 

But if it kindle waning hope, 

Or strengthens feeble cause, 

'Twill live through ages yet unborn, 
For good things never die. 

The kindnesses that men may scorn, 
Are registered on high. 


Pound Away. 

The man who hangs on, wins the prize 
In things that make men good and wise. 
But he who flirts with fickle Fate, 

Will miss the things that make men great. 

Success is valiant effort’s fruit, 

That talks, although it is a mute. 

Hang on for dear life every day ; 

Stand at your post and pound away. 

The shiftless, is the shifting man 
That every day has some new plan, 

But fails with any one to stay 
At his post, and pound away. 


People who see the sun rise as a rule 
are the people who climb to the summit of 
Mount success. Of course it’s hard climb¬ 
ing for the sluggard. 


















DRIFTWOOD 


33 


The Dining-Room Masher. 

He simpers and smacks and smiles and 
smirks 

At the dining room girls each day, 

And when he retires, thinks he takes 
The heart of each girl away. 

The simple goose he does not know 
That a turned-up nose is all they show. 

He enters the room with a foolish grin. 
And rubs his hands in a bland-like way, 
Takes his seat and begins to chin ; 

To every girl has something to say. 

The idiot don’t know he takes the time 
Of some busy man who waits to dine. 

The world is full of these simple jays, 
Who think they are cunning as a fox at 
night, 

And chatter like monkeys and cause delays, 
And muddle the girl till she can’t go 
right; 

Then boast in the office of the conquest 
made, 

Proud of their work, for mashing is their 
trade. 


Twenty-Nine. 

Women never pass a certain age, 

The limit reached, their years decline. 

They may be really fifty-six 
When they are only “ twenty-nine.” 

In youth I loved a merry maid 

( Her age was then the same as mine ) 

I’m marching down the westward slope— 
Past fifty now—she’s “ twenty-nine.” 

Of course her hair is growing gray. 

And wrinkles on her face, like mine. 

Her vision is somewhat impaired— 

Her eyesight failed at “ twenty-nine.” 

But then I’m married, she’s a maid, 

And once my love she did decline, 

I hardly think she’d do it now, 

Though she is only “ twenty-nine.” 


Many Ways. 

There are many paths that lead to fame, 
And many ways to win renown, 

But many more in which a name 
And character may be run down. 

Hence we should guard our honor well, 
And every chance to win embrace, 

The slightest circumstance may swell 
Into a tale of deep disgrace. 

Envy’s tongue is tipped with spite, 

And Jealousy has breath of flame. 

And hate disdains the truth and right, 

To wound a heart or smirch a name. 


Installment Day. 

Make things go easy, wife, this month. 
Be never so prudent, pray. 

For even though we hungry go, 

We must on our auto pay. 

It comes a little tough, ’tis true, 

And then your Easter hat, 

Oh ginger snaps ! it makes me blue ; 

A payment is due on that. 

And there’s my last fall’s overcoat, 

I’m back a month or two. 

And Susan Jane’s diamond ring— 
Great snakes ! what will I do ? 

But then we’ve got to live in style ; 

There is no other way. 

I think when Gabriel blows his horn, 
’Twon’t seem like Judgment Day. 

More like a day of Jubilee 

’Twill seem ; so great the change. 

So very peaceful, don’t you see, 

'Twill be a happy change. 


I Would Work. 

Yes, I would work for daily bread, 

I would not lead a life of ease. 

The grave will give us rest, ’tis said, 

The indolent to more than please. 

If Heaven were eternal rest, 

With golden harps to thrum each day, 
I’m sure I could not stand the test 
Of having naught to do but play. 


The undertaker may not be the most 
exacting, but he has the last chance, and 
has the further advantage of being able to 
cover up his work. 


One by one the people die 
And slip away from sight ; 

How soon is song changed to sigh. 
And day becomes the night! 


Men boast of their achievements. But 
what is man to cope with the elements ? 
The flood sweeps away the mouuments of 
his power ; fire consumes the trophies of 
his pride ; an hour destroys the work of 
hands for ages. All of which contrasts 
man’s strength with that of his Maker. He 
can only stand in awe and contemplate his 
weakness. Yes, there is a God. Puny 
puppet of a pitying Providence is man. 












34 


DRIFTWOOD 


Along The Lane. 

The bright glinting sunbeams of the morn, 
That shone on the waving blades of corn ; 
The flowers that smiled the meadows 
through, 

When kissed by the early morning dew, 
Were never seen more fair and bright 
Than she whose presence brought delight. 
We laughed and romped along the 
lane, 

And sang with the birds throughout the 
day— 

I’d like to live those days again, 

In that country home so far away. 

Our merry walk we daily took 
Along the pathway by the brook, 

Or sat beneath the willow tree, 

And heard the buzz of busy bee, 

Some drowsy, summer afternoon, 

Whose hours passed away too soon. 

We laughed and romped along the 
lane, 

And sang with the birds throughout 
the day— 

I’d like to live those days again 
In that country home so far away. 

Now, city walls around us frown, 

Where timid sunbeams scarce creep down, 
And standing queenly by my side, 

Is that country girl I made my bride. 

Long years have passed, and I can see 
Gray hairs, yet sweet and fair is she 

As when we romped along the lane, 
And sang with the birds throughout 
the day— 

Still I would like to live again 
In that country home so far away. 


The meanest way of fighting is to whip 
a person over the shoulder of another. 


Some people can always see something 
to talk about by looking in the looking-glass. 
Of course it may be a shallow subject. 


Some men boast that they can speak 
seven languages, but what are seven lan¬ 
guages compared to the millions that are 
spoken in the world ! Do they understand 
the language of the beast, the bird, the 
bee, the brook, the flower, the tree? Then 
let no one boast that he is educated. Only 
God speaks many tongues or understands 
many hearts. O man, your pride of learn¬ 
ing is profanation in the sight of the 
Infinite. 


How Narrow. 

’Tis given all the human race 
That it will have to die. 

How narrow then will be the space 
That all will occupy ! 

A man may sit upon a throne 
While living, but when dead, 

He’ll go the journey all alone— 

No crown upon his head. 

The jewels then that he will wear. 
If any he can claim, 

Will be for deeds that shall declare 
A record free from blame. 


A man’s greatness rests solely in his 
achievements. 


If time is money the majority of people 
have money to burn. 


Policemen, like everybody else, work for 
pay. And they earn some of it. 


Common sayings are common property, 
no matter who originates them. 


The trouble with too many parents is 
they forget they were ever boys and girls. 


The wit that requires a key is’nt the 
kind that entitles a name to fame as a hu¬ 
morist. 


When a man talks through his hat what 
he says is not felt, nor does he make the 
fur fly. 


Obscurity. 

A stitch in time of course is right, 
Although it may be out of sight, 
For little things ne’er cease to be 
Important through obscurity. 


You may feel that you are young, but 
when everybody calls you the “old gentle¬ 
man, ” or the “ old lady,” you may know 
that youth has departed. At earlier times 
they would say: “ Tom ” or “ Dick ” or 
“ Sally. ” The latter terms show the evo¬ 
lution of politeness. 

















DRIFTWOOD 


35 


Don’t Wait for Something Great. 

From little deeds great good proceeds. 

This is a fact that all may know 
If object be relieving needs 
Or mitigating human woe. 

Then don’t delay or idly wait 
For something great to fix the date. 

Scan any life and you will find 
That trifles make the aggregate 
Of achievement of any kind 

In church affairs or things of state. 
E’en men who shall the masses sway 
Use trifles in a forceful way. 

No matter what shall be your aim, 

By little things the goal is reached. 

If object be to gain a name 

Through song that’s sung or sermon 
preached, 

Look not for things grandiloquent, 

Lest by waiting your chance is spent. 

In scanning biographic page, 

I find those men who won renown 
In any sphere or any age, 

On little things ne’er deigned to frown. 
Nor did they wait for something great 
That they might do in church or state. 

Too many men are prone to dream 
Philosophize and plan and fret. 

They waste their time with idle scheme 
And to their goal they never get. 

Ideals may be good ’tis true, 

But by little things great things we do. 


There is no person so wise but that he 
could learn something from a fool. 


Prophets are always ahead of time. But 
the old man with the bush-hook over his 
shoulder don’t always back up their work. 


You may put old heads on young should¬ 
ers, but you destroy the innocence and vi¬ 
vacity of childhood and the buoyancy of 
youth in doing so. Nature never puts ma¬ 
ture minds in immature bodies. 


The drivers of automobiles are not over 
anxious about the comfort of the public. 
Where the dust is thickest they run the 
fastest. Possibly they fear common people 
may forget they were made from the dust 
of the earth, lest they have frequent chance 
to bite it. 


He Got Ahead. 

Talk about farmers not getting ahead ! 
What do they want, the earth ? One night 
last week a farmer I know, got ahead many 
heads. The old cow had a calf, six sheep 
had each twin lambs, one swine had a 
litter of nine, the cat had nine kittens, the 
slut increased the dog census by seven, the 
old dominick came off the nest with a 
brood of chickens and his wife added an¬ 
other bud to the family tree. What can a 
man expect; the whole world turned loose 
on his ranch? Of course there were some 
offsets. The hired girl ran away with the 
hired man, and the other dog killed a 
polecat in the woodshed. 


“Living Spring.” 

I often tread that shining way, 

In strange, weird light of vanished years, 
And every charm returns to-day, 

But through a misty veil of tears. 

Joys all too sweet so long to last; 

Yet, live we not, much in the past ? 

Sweep onward, cycle of the years ! 

Fly upward soul, toward heaven’s gate. 
The heart has unction in its tears, 

Unless they’re shed alas ! too late. 
Though head be gray, the heart may sing, 
If looking toward the “ Living Spring.” 


Half of the diseases the doctors locate 
in the body are seated in the mind. 


People who never cry for spilt milk are 
always crying for cream. 


In the ratio that people are unnatural 
they are unattractive. 


Greed and graft are two great factors in 
the social polity of our time. 


Can You? 

Can you interpret aright 

The chit chit of chitmuck gay, 
And tell just what, at night, 

The gray, wise owls say ? 

Then boast of your lore ; 

Your scholarship air, 

And your wonderful store 
Of wisdom declare. 















36 


DRIFTWOOD 


Simple Lessons. 

“ There was an old woman 
Who lived in a shoe.” 

So poor was she, 

She was always blue. 

She had little kids, 

Seven or eight, 

And it kept her busy 

In keeping them straight. 
They would scamper out, 
Through the eyelet holes, 
And play outside— 

The little souls— 

Till she called them in 
And closed the door, 

And put them to bed 
On the leather floor. 

This little old woman, 

With a shoe for a house, 

I will tell you true— 

Was a little mouse, 

And the little kids, 

Were the baby mice. 
That slept in the shoe, 

Quite warm and nice. 

But the kids grew up 
And thought they’d go 
From the garret high 
To a room below. 

‘‘For there,” said they, 

“ In a little while 
We’ll be able to live 
In greater style.” 

So they took a lunch 
In their little paws 
And went to live 
Under foreign laws. 

They found a chest, 

With a hole in the back. 
And there their trunks 
Did they unpack. 

But the mistress came 
To the chest, one day. 
And saw some rags 
Torn finer than hay. 

She brought the cat, 

And, in a trice, 

Pussy devoured 
The little mice. 

MORAL. 

The lesson is this, 

I wish to convey: 

When you are safe, 

Don’t move away. 


What we do do is never the full measure 
of what we might do. 


If babies are sent from Heaven, it is a 
puzzle to understand why the largest num¬ 
ber should be sent to the poorest places. 


Our Day. 

What we need to know is things that ap¬ 
ply to conditions as they are to-day, not 
centuries ago. 

In the teeming, pregnant Now, 

Should we ever live and strive. 

’Tis the way that we learn how 
To make the honey in the hive. 

No one ever reached his goal 

By deeds that other men achieved. 
There must be reaching out of soul, 

And conduct squared with things be¬ 
lieved. 

The dreamer is a mummy dry ; 

A dull back number laid away. 

It is the things now passing by, 

We need to grasp, to make our day. 


’Tis True. 

Some people are such inveterate calam¬ 
ity hunters they can’t recognize a good 
thing when it crosses their pathway. They 
go about with an assassin’s knife ready to 
slash the wind-pipe of every one who tries 
to see things as they are. 


Unwise. 

Real pleasure knows no discomfort. If 
Christian service were a delight, people 
wouldn’t stay away from church on ac¬ 
count of warm or stormy weather. Nor 
would preachers relax their efforts when 
the devil is most active. Warm weather 
is a time of temptation. Relaxation is a 
long step in the direction of loss. 


Time may be money but it won’t pay 
railroad fares. 


A man spends dollars where his wife 
spends dimes, and she has to beg or fight 
for the ten cents, at that. 


When a man gets dissatisfied with the 
world, the world is usually disgusted with 
him. 


An urgent demand of the day is some 
means of applying electricity in the nur¬ 
sery whereby children may be spanked 
by the aid of a storage battery. 













DRIFTWOOD 


Near to Nature, Close to God. 

I turn my face away from God, 

And darkness then impedes my way. 

In rugged roads my feet must plod, 
Because I will to go astray. 

But if on Him I fix my eyes, 

Bright flowers bloom along life’s road, 

Bird notes make resonant the skies, 

And I know not I bear a load. 

I need not bear my burdens long, 

Nor need I grope in dismal ways, 

For he can fill my soul with song, 

Till lips give utterance to praise. 

O Nature, at thy shrine I bow, 

And there before my God I kneel. 

I only wish that I knew how 
To tell the gratitude I feel. 


Mutual Confession. 

“I have not costly mansion 
Nor millions in the bank, 

I have no automobile. 

Nor any social rank. 

But I’ve a love that’s constant. 

A heart that’s brave and true, 

A purpose that is honest; 

I offer all to you.” 

“ I have not charming beauty, 

Nor wealth,” she made reply: 

“ I have no rich relations, 

Nor can I bake a pie. 

But I’ve a heart for any fate, 

If any man shall covet. 

I never liked to do housework, 

But I may learn to love it.” 

Full confession being made, 

He begged her name the day 
When he could don his new spring 
suit 

And take her far away. 

She, clad in hat of latest style 
And skirt and polonaise, 

And every other stylish thing 
Their scanty means could buy. 

“ I think,” she said, “ we’ll name the 
time, 

The 4th day of July.” 


How Much. 

How much of good may be wrought 
By human hands rightly applied ! 
How much of evil may be sought, 

If useful labor be denied. 


What people need they should have, but 
they may want more than they need. 


37 


The Keen Kid’s Observation. 

’Taint any use es I can see 

In tryin’ ter be great and good. 

Sech things don’t grow on trees fer me, 

I know I cou’dnt ef I wou’d. 

What is ther use? When we are dead 
You can’t hear nothin’ thet is said. 

A feller has ter be borned great, 

I s’pose, an’ hev a millionaire 
Fer a father ; at any rate 

I know thet I can ne’er get there. 

An’ so I aint goin’ ter try ; 

Fo’ks is jest alike up in ther sky. 

Now the’ wus little Georgie Cornell, 

He went ter Sunday school each week. 
An’ I have of’en heard fo’ks tell 

Thet not a swear word wou’d he speak. 
He broke his neck—fell frum a tree, 

An’ went es dead es he cou’d be. 

He never hed a monerment, 

An’ not a soul cud tell ter day 
Ter what cemertary he wus sent 
When his remains wus took erway. 
Poor little Georgie, he’s fergot, 

An’ no one cares ef good or not. 

But there wus Mayer Graft’s vile kid 
Thet raised Old Nick ter beat ther 
band. 

Fo’ks all fergot ther things he did 
An’ made a fun’ral thet wus grand. 

He has a monerment ter day 

Thet turns ther clouds out uv ther way. 

An’ so I do not seem to care 
Ef I am good er rich er poor. 

I think that when I get “ Over There’ 
An' stan’ inside uv Heaven’s door, 

The angels they will find excuse 
Fer me ; an’ so it is no use. 


Again and Again. 

Adam and Eve were a happy pair, 
And they belonged to the upper-ten. 
Of course they had but little to wear 
And they wore it again and again. 


I have no doubt but that human nature 
is a great puzzle to the angels. 


All women are lovers of art, but they 
admire their own painting the most. 


Disputing principles does not destroy 
them. If so God’s moral laws and the laws 
of Nature would have been annulled im¬ 
mediately on man’s advent upon the planet. 














38 


DRIFTWOOD 


Not A Drawing Card. 

Modern music has become so classic it 
has lost its power to cheer or charm. The 
human voice has lost its melody, and instru¬ 
mental music its harmony. The heart¬ 
touching ballad or sonnet with its nerve 
thrilling air, has given place to the scream 
of the screech owl, in church solo or con¬ 
cert effort, so that either disgusts rather 
than delights. The modern church solo 
has in it none of the elements of worship 
or any suggestion of devotion, and is never 
an uplift of the soul to pious reflection. 
If preachers would insist that the affected 
solo, with its indistinct words, unnatural 
quavor of voice and operatic strains, 
should be cut out of their service, it would 
do much to stimulate attendance. Who 
comprise the average church congregation? 
Middle-aged and elderly people who ap¬ 
preciate the fashionable solo about as they 
would enjoy the filing of a saw. If it is 
such a drawing card, why is it that young 
people so generally stay away from church? 
The very element we would naturally sup¬ 
pose it to attract, fails to respond. I haz¬ 
ard the assertion that the largest church 
congregations in our cities don’t average 
to number twenty-five young persons, ex¬ 
clusive of the singers—where they have 
chorus choirs. So the prima donna don’t 
draw, and the male soloist is a worse in¬ 
fliction still. 


I Wish It Might. 

May what we think to-day, 

Outline our thoughts to-morrow, 
In thinking out a way 

To rid the world of sorrow. 


He who loves God, loves man. and he 
who works for humanity works for God. 
Nor does it matter what the name of the 
institution through which the effort is ap¬ 
plied. It may be church, lodge or club. 
Results is the only thing that counts. 


Men are not horses because they occupy 
the cushioned stalls in a modern cafe, for 
horses know when they have had enough 
to drink. 


Will Power. 

We succeed in life or we succumb, 
And call it fortune or fickle fate, 

While ’tis in fact not either one 
That life’s stern issues ever state. 

Fortune or fate is what we will 
Our measure of success to be. 

We plod or pace up life’s rough hill, 
And will the good or bad we see. 

’Tis well that we dismiss the thought 
That life is but a thing of chance. 

Nor is success something that’s bought, 
Except we will that we advance. 


Hoping. 

Hoping is the first step toward doing. If 
we hope for the good we escape the bad. 
We are therefore the architects of our own 
destiny. The world has outgrown the bug¬ 
aboo of foreordination or a fixed fate inde¬ 
pendent of individual wish or will. “Spe¬ 
cial providence ” has been the bugbear of 
the ages. A higher sense of reason and 
right dawns on the world to-day. People 
have come to know that everything is under 
the rule of fixed and unchangable law, and 
that human happiness is secured by obey- 
I ing God’s eternal statutes. They no longer 
permit themselves to be frightened by the 
ghosts of dead dogmas. 

Fair reason’s lamp more brightly burns, 
While light of faith is growing dim, 

And on the pivot of law life turns, 
Whether for man or seraphim. 


The One Great Day. 

’Tis the goody, goody time we know, 

The one great day of all the year, 

When people reconstruct their lives, 

Led by the mighty force of fear. 

Would resolutions they could keep, 

The same awake as when asleep. 

Men cease to drink and smoke and chew, 
And women make resolves, with care, 
That they no longer will pursue 

The things that cause the world despair. 
They’ll retrench in corsets and hat— 

“ Now, what do you know about that ? ” 


Idle industries do not promote prosper¬ 
ity, nor favorable location secure success. 
All natural or artificial advantages must be 
supplemented by human will power. 
















DRIFTWOOD 


39 


The Path To The Spring. 

It started right from the old stone step, 
Placed firm before the kitchen door, 
Straight through the orchard then it kept 
And on across the arbor floor. 

Then turned abruptly to the right 
Till by the hedge ’twas hid from sight. 

The drooping trees, with arms bent low, 
Formed narrow archway dark and cool, 
Through which we children used to go 
To bring the water from the pool. 

We used to laugh and shout and sing, 

In going to and from the spring. 

Oh, happy, peaceful, childhood days ! 

How bright the mem’ries we recall 
When we pursued the winding w*ays 
That reached the spring and water-fall. 
There were mimic falls, with splash and 
spray, 

That softly murmured, both night and day. 

We see the spring in grotto deep, 

Under the rough brow of the hill 
We used to climb so high and steep. 

To drop smooth pebbles in the rill, 

And watch to see how very wide 
The circles reached out, either side. 

But one there was, a lovely girl— 

( She did not bear my fam’ly name ) 

Her face was wreathed in golden curl 
As daily to our home she came. 

And hand in hand, in childish glee, 

She romping went to the spring with me.— 

She grew—I grew, but she grew sly, 

Just when she made most glad my heart, 
And Fate decreed that she and I 

In that bright path should walk apart. 
The world was dark ; I knew not why 
That she should seem so strangely shy. 

Long years, sad years, have fled since then, 
And I, a bird upon the wing, 

Would but too gladly tread again 
That winding pathway to the spring. 

Alas ! in fancy we retrace 

The paths that lead through silent space. 


However the opinion obtained that wo¬ 
men are inferior to men, I can’t compre¬ 
hend, since it is given to them to perform 
the noblest function of life ; that of moth¬ 
erhood. Not only do they perpetuate the 
race, but they preserve the highest and 
holiest ideals of civilization. Are you a 
man ? to whom do you owe, not only your 
life, but your ability to achieve in any line 
of effort, unless it be to your mother ? 


Adversity Is Advantage. 

One great disadvantage of being rich 
and living in a palace and having every¬ 
thing the heart desires, and more, is that it 
is hard to die and leave it all to succeed¬ 
ing generations to wrangle over or waste. 
It’s not so easy to die in a mansion as in a 
hovel. The pauper gives up his claims on 
the world with no regrets. He knows the 
earth will keep his body warm in winter 
and cool in summer, and that’s more than 
he is able to do above ground. Then, 
hunger don’t gnaw in the grave, and his 
chances in the other world—if there be 
one—is just as good as those of the mil¬ 
lionaire. Death may be a solemn thing to 
joke about, but the pauper is more likely 
to jest on his dying bed than the prince. 
He knows in real death he has only to die 
once, while he died a million times trying 
to live. 


Is There A Land? 

MORTAL. 

“Is there a land, I’d like to know, 

Where people, their own business mind. 

If there be such a place. I’ll go 
And seek that happy land to find. 

Where others do not interfere 

With what I think and perform here. 

“ Where Madam Grundy, all the day, 

Is silent as an autumn eve. 

And where every one don’t try to say 
Some hateful thing to make me grieve ; 

But where my neighbors are my friends, 

And purity with beauty blends.” 

ANGEL. 

“ Yes, there is a land that you desire, 
Where reigns perpetual peace ; 

Where you may have what you require, 
And where your joys shall still increase. 

But, to reach the land you fondly crave, 

The road leads through the gloomy grave. 


The happy man is the man that is alive 
to every duty, seeking no notoriety, court¬ 
ing no adventure ; his highest ambition to 
be a man among men. He may have faults, 
weaknesses ; all men have, but he has the 
sterling qualities of nobility. Preachers 
may not voice his merits, papers may not 
ring his praises, sports may not covet his 
favors, but he bears the stamp of the hero. 









40 


DRIFTWOOD 


My Thoughts And I. 

My thoughts and I are closest friends, 
Who hold communion every hour, 

And each one seeks what each commends 
In way of pleasures or of power. 

Each word of counsel or of cheer. 

Or of advice for either’s good. 

Both give to both a willing ear : 

We’re bound in bonds of brotherhood. 

Our counsel we would fain impart 
To all who chance our way to cross. 

To those in want or faint of heart, 

We’d help each one bear grief or loss. 

We coincide in matters grave, 

As all close friends should aim to do, 

And recommend that each be brave 
In fighting wrongs that men pursue. 


Free Male Delivery. 

She makes her way expectantly. 

To the office every day, 

But the mail she expects to see, 

Is spelt the other way. 

The missives that are sent, tis true. 
The mail bags don’t convey. 

Suggestive look, a smile or wink 
Tell more than pen may say. 

Has she a right to utilize 
The mail service that way, 

To correspond by look of eyes, 

With no postage to pay ? 

She should at least pay office rent 
To poor old Uncle Sam, 

By stamping every wink that’s sent. 
Though it be flirting sham. 

But love scorns locksmiths, it is said. 
And goes where it is sent, 

Despatched by invisible thread, 
Government claims no rent. 


The great talker is not the deep thinker 
nor the prudent counselor. 


We work for money and the grave covers 
it. But if we work for knowledge, it is 
never buried. 


Bring children up the way the want to 
go, and they’ll go it. 


A man’s ability usually measures up to 
opportunity. 


I'll Linger Here. 

How things have changed in fifty years, 
From what they were in former times ; 
Then hearts were softened oft to tears. 

And money didn’t cover crimes. 

Then women used to stay at home 
Part of the time in weather fair, 

And didn’t want whate’er might come, 
Such horrid looking hats to wear. 

Cheap shows had not been sprouted then, 
To turn the heads of old and young ; 
With prices only “ Five and ten”— 

Nor had baseball the people stung. 

Then, Presidents the White House filled, 
And didn’t go the world around, 

To tell how wondrously they willed 
Against corruptions that they found. 

But I forbear to specify 

The social fads that shame the age, 

And that at best can but belie 

The sense of right in saint or sage. 

Suppose we keep the same swift pace 
For twenty years, or less or more, 

We’ll make a record of disgrace 
The nation never reached before— 

Don’t think my heart is written out 
In simple rhyme of pessimist, 

I rather like to hang about 

This world, though I may not keep whist. 

I’m not a crank, on ‘‘Grumble Brink,” 

I like good things, and find them too, 
And institutions grand I think, 

And men and women good and true. 

And birds and brooks and children dear, 
And landscapes that entrance the eye, 
And so I say I’ll linger here, 

Nor long to reach the By and By. 

The simple fact, I find, is this: 

Seek good and it will come your way, 
Though some things coveted you miss, 
Many sweet things will come each day. 


No Crown Upon His Head. 

A man may sit upon a throne 
While living, but when dead 
He’ll go the journey all alone— 

No crown upon his head. 

The jewels then that he will wear, 
If any he can claim, 

Will be the deeds that shall declare 
A record free from blame. 


Conscience may be cheated, but it can’t 
be completely crushed. 














DRIFTWOOD 


41 


Little Lou's Letter. 

Dear Santa Claus, I will indite 
A line to you. I want to write 
And tell you—but I s’pose you know— 

It’s almost time for you to go 

And pack your sleigh and groom your deer, 

For I expect you will come here 

The very first place, Christmas Eve, 

And lots of presents you will leave. 

Some things I think I will set down— 
Please don’t forget my name and town— 
The first thing I’ll put on my list, 

In letters plain that can’t be missed— 

I bet you know before I tell 
Just what it is—You know full well 
I cannot do without a doll, 

One that can talk just like dear Poll. 

You understand 'bout little girls, 

And like them in their smiles and curls. 
But best of all, I know you would 
Be pleased to know that they were good 
And I will say that as for me, 

I’m just as good as I can be. 

I don’t say this thinking I may 
Deceive you with the words I say, 

Or that ’twill change your mind at all 
Bout making presents great or small. 

I’m willing you should have your way 
Nor heed a thing that I may say, 

But then, a hint—I’ll whisper low— 

Can do no harm. Of course you know 
I don’t expect you’ll break your back 
And give me all that’s in your pack. 

Other girls there are, I know, 

And they, of course, must have a show. 
They wouldn’t think that it was right 
For one to have all that’s in sight. 

So I will make modest request, 

And trust that you will do the rest. 

This is my list all written plain. 

I thought it best I should refrain 
From making my demands too great— 

I hope I do not estimate 
Too highly your benevolence, 

Or that you can’t stand the expense.— 

But in long letters half is missed 
And so I’ll now write down my list: 

A doll, (I told you that before) 

Candy and nuts; io pounds or more, 
Oranges and bananas, too, 

And box of gum for me to chew. 

I think for sweetmeats that will do, 

Now, good, dear Santa Claus, don’t you? 

I must have sled and pair of skates 
And nice new shoes—please get them 
mates— 

I want a ring with diamond set, 

A gold watch, too, I’d like to get, 

A set of furs, boa and muff, 

A pair of gloves and that’s enough. 

If these few things should more than fill 
My stockings, Santa Claus, you will, 

In case you want to give me more, 

Please use the table by the door. 

And say, now Santa, would you care 


If I sit up that night and stare? 

’Cause little Daisy May told ma 
That you was only just her pa. 

But then she told a fib, I know, 

For her papa could never go 
With reindeer flying through the sky 
And all his trinkets up so high. 

I love Daisy, but I can’t see 

How she can think such things could be— 

Now Santa Claus, I’ll say good bye, 

Safe journey to you through the sky. 

With lots of love and kisses, too 
I remain your friend— Little Lou. 


The sympathy of a good, pure, loving 
wife, is everything to a man, in the battle 
of life. 


We Need Not Fear. 

Why weep that our years go by? 

’Tis vain to regret, 

For bright will be our sky. 
When our sun shall set. 


When a man goes out after fun, nine 
times out of ten he regrets it when he 
comes in. 


That’s Different. 

She has no change for charity, 
But almost every day, 
Though it’s for her no rarity. 
She goes to the matinee. 


It is singular that people will indulge in 
needless domestic quarrels until they reach 
the brink of ruin, with no power to keep 
from plunging over. Middle-aged married 
people live together as husband and wife 
20 or 30 years ; build a home and then 
through petty spite, insane jealousy or to 
gratify a stubborn will and a mean temper, 
seperate and undo the work of years, to 
live in misery the rest of their lives. Such 
conduct utterly disgusts any one with a 
grain of common sense. 


The weather clerk is off his base, 
In making his prediction. 

It is an insult to the race; 

The basest kind of fiction. 


More men get to the front by means of 
printer’s ink than by what they do or think. 












42 


DRIFTWOOD 


A Temper Tester. 

Not every man I know will swear 
And stamp and curse with vim. 

But one that don’t is very rare, 
When collar bothers him. 

The stubborn buttonholes are sealed 
With starch so very tight 

They couldn’t once be made to yield 
To a blast of dynamite. 

The shirt band, too, is out of whack 
With collar, as to size. 

And any man that won’t talk back, 

I think I would despise. 

You talk of corns and ague chill. 

Of measles and the mumps, 

A stubborn collar I’m sure will 
Most put men to their trumps. 


Life is just a game of bluff. 


A young man complains that his girl is 
so chilly she freezes the artificial flowers 
on her hat. 


A man running for office is for every¬ 
body before election ; after he is elected, 
he is for nobody but himself. 


The Busy Body. 

She wanders forth throughout the town. 

And every place she goes, 

She’s busy running people down 
With her long tale of woes. 

Her mission is to peddle news, 

Or paint to people’s sight, 

Some of the mighty horrid views 
That fill her with affright. 

But I’m inclined to think the town 
Could get along without 
The gossips of doubtful renown. 

And what they talk about. 

I think that peace would reign within 
The country all around, 

And murder would not be a sin, 

If gossips could be found. 

But search for lies and you will find. 
However they appall, 

They are orphans; so never mind, 

They have no ma at all. 

And fatherless as well are they. 

Which you may justly scorn. 

Like Topsy, you can truly say : 

They growed; they were not born. 


I Have No Human Idols. 

I fear no man, though great he be. 

And wear a kingly robe and crown; 

I am as great, as good as he; 

I court no smile, I fear no frown. 

Distinctions that proud men may make 
I spurn as empty, idle jest. 

The good men do is what I take 
As honor’s only perfect test. 

I do not lift my hat nor bow 
Me low to any man I face, 

Since well I know I helped, somehow. 
To lift him to his lofty place. 

He is the creature of my thought. 

Through effort of my hand or will. 
Or with my ballot I have bought 
An honored place for him to fill. 

He is the servant, I the lord. 

If any cringing must be done, 

I’m sure that I cannot afford 

To praise another for what I’ve won. 


The true mother or housewife is not a 
pillar. She is content to be a plain Chris¬ 
tian church member. 


The baldheaded man is not always a 
product of time; he may have been 
snatched that way. 


A man is honored for his gab. 

Not for his wisdom nor his creeds. 
’Tis his ability to blab 

About his money and his deeds. 


The man that commits suicide empha¬ 
sizes the possibility of jumping from the 
frying-pan into the fire. 


Husband—Are you going to do any can¬ 
ning? 

Young Wife—Well, I’m going to see if 
I can can. 


If. 

If the tongue were as truthful as the 
eyes 

There’d be more to admire and less to 
despise. 

We’d find many an Eden where hells 
are found, 

And hear many a prayer where curses 
resound. 















DRIFTWOOD 


43 


Like A Queen. 

I bought a tandem, just for fun, 
One that would carry two, 

And when I take a little run, 

I take my darling Sue. 

For I can work, up hill or down, 
While she sits like a queen, 

If in the country or the town, 
And just enjoys the scene. 

I like to work for darling Sue, 
And want her in my sight, 
Without the wheel, I never knew 
Who rode with her at night. 
And so I gladly work the wheel, 
While she sits like a queen, 

If it be fast or slow we spiel, 

She just enjoys the scene. 


I think more of the out and out infidel, 
than of the man that gets religion and 
hides it. The infidel is, at least, in touch 
with humanity, and in sympathy with sor¬ 
row. There are far too many Christians 
that put on religion as an embellishment of 
character, as a vain woman wears jewels 
to adorn her body. I call such people 
bread and butter Christians. They join a 
church to gain business patronage or social 
advantage. 


“ No Show. ” 

If East or West or North or South, 

At any time you chance to go, 

People you’ll find with lots of mouth, 
Who make complaint they have 
“ no show.” 

The fates to them are all unkind, 

And Fortune frowns the live-long day. 

They see no light, for they are blind, 

“ We have no show,” is what they say. 

But Fortune gives all equal chance, 

She has no favorites, I know, 

And everybody may advance, 

If they shall only will it so. 

Just put your shoulder to life’s car, 

And bravely give a little lift. 

The clouds will part and morning star, 
You’ll see it shining through the rift. 

Life’s journey then is bright and fair, 
And peacefully you onward go. 

There are no frost shafts in the air, 
Except for those who have “ no show.” 


In considering life’s problems, success is 
everything; method nothing. 


They Weep. 

Ashamed of tears ! I’m not ashamed, 

I pity the man that cannot weep. 

If I may have no tears to shed 
I know my soul is sound asleep. 

Tears are the flood-gates of the soul, 
Through which the heart’s best feel¬ 
ings flow, 

And if the gates be open, then 
Our angel kinship do we show. 

Though seraphs sing around the throne. 
Yet faithful vigil do they keep ; 

And I believe they oft look down 

Upon earth’s sorrows, and they weep. 

A man may not have wealth to give, 

Yet sympathy is more than gold, 

And tears bespeak a friendship true, 
Though not a word of love be told. 


Duty discharged merely for pay is rarely 
rightly done. 


The best Christianity is the truest hu¬ 
manity. 


Her eyes were bright as diamonds, 
Her cheeks, fair as the rose, 

But her gait was something awful, 
She had corns on her toes. 


Wealth may bring respectability, but not 
always happiness. A clear conscience is 
the only thing that brings contentment. 


Where The Lid Is Down. 

There’s a pensiveness in the air 
And people wear a sullen frown, 

While they utter words of deep despair 
In the town where the lid is down. 

The grass grows in the silent streets ; 
The buildings all are dingy and brown, 

And there are many vile dead-beats 
In the town where the lid is down. 

Only undertakers seem to thrive, 

For people long for their golden 
crown— 

That is, those that are alive— 

In the town where the lid is down. 

The men never wear a cheerful smile, 
And the women wear the Mother 
Hubbard gown, 

There isn’t a bit of “ git ” nor style 
In the town where the lid is down. 















44 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Angels Know. 

“Twas the night before Christmas”— 
you’ve heard that before— 

The winds whistled through the cracks 
in the door 

Of a little rude hut where poverty dwells, 

And the tale of its woe the winter 
wind tells. 

Twas the home of a widow with children 
whose care, 

Her needle supplies with very poor fare. 

And fuel to keep their bodies half warm 

From the biting blasts of the pitiless 
storm. 

What think the poor inmates of holiday 
cheer? 

They must work, work away each day in 
the year, 

No respite from toil and no hope’s 
cheering ray 

Ever brightens that home with a 
Christmas day— 

Shrill is the cold blast, and the drifting 
snow 

Sifts through the wide cracks, above 
and below r — 

A wrap on the door; they trembled with 
fear, 

A lady in furs draws tenderly near. 

“ Dear woman,” she said, “ 'tisglad Christ¬ 
mas tide; 

Angels have sent me for you to pro¬ 
vide. 

There came to my bed, last night as I 
slept, 

A spirit most bright, yet I saw that he 
wept. 

“And with him there came a vision most 
plain 

Of a street, so narrow, 'twas hardly a 
lane. 

A picture I saw of a home, like this— 

I saw it so plain that I could not miss 

"The way I should go, nor what I should 
do ; 

And so I have brought these comforts 
to you”— 

A strong, double team then stopped at 
the door, 

And such a Christmas they ne’er saw 
before. 

Turkeys and chickens, coal, flour and 
meat, 

Clothes, mittens and shoes, and candies 
to eat— 

Deny if you will that good angels know 

Where sorrow exists; I know it is so. 


The Fiends of Doubt. 

Life’s enemies are all about, 

They live on human weakness. 

Worst of all are the fiends of doubt, 
Who have not love nor meekness. 

They gnaw with avaricious tooth 
Both name and reputation, 

And think that they will reach, forsooth. 
Themselves a higher station. 

Shame on the man who would tear down 
The good name of a brother, 

Till everybody in the town 
Shall distrust one another. 

I know a town that’s just like that, 

With not a good soul in it, 

Jane and Mary, Pete and Pat 
Fighting every minute. 


A great many people think marriage a 
failure because they are failures in meet¬ 
ing its issues. 


If people could reduce their desires to 
the limit of their needs, the problem of 
right living would be solved. 


Old Winter is a trust magnate. 

He takes things mighty cool, 

He makes some concessions to King Sol, 
But keeps him out of the pool. 


Some people air other people’s money 
when they air the clothes they wear. A 
poor way of putting on airs, it must be ad¬ 
mitted. 


“We spend our years 
As a tale that is told.” 

Yet no need for tears, 

Lest the heart grows cold. 


It is singular that people will sit and be 
tortured under the delusion that they are 
being entertained by some musical selec¬ 
tion way above their comprehension and 
appreciation, because someone says it is 
fine and classical. The masses are not 
competent critics, and they measure the 
merits of a performance by the pleasure 
it affords. 











DRIFTWOOD 


The Spirit of Change. 

Men do their work and pass on, others 
take their places, do their stint, and they 
are gone. 

The generations come and go, 

The rapid years slip by, 

But whither we go, we may not know, 
We only know we die. 

After an absence of about fourteen 
years, I visited a place where for nearly as 
long a time I was a resident. What a 
change has come over the face of nature 
and the faces of the people! The men 
have grown gray, the women homely—no, 
grown sweeter, for they have grown toward 
the grave where earthly beauty is transfig¬ 
ured or enhanced—and the children grown 
into adult’s clothes and customs. All is 
changed. Time has wrought his disguises; 
faces have faded or forever vanished, 
names are forgotten and friendship only a 
sad memory. Paths that were familiar are 
obliterated, and haunts that delighted, bring 
back only hollow mockeries of the past. 

The dead, how many of all I knew, 

And of the living, how very few 

Remain to link, with tear dimmed eye, 

The present with the days gone by! 

I visited the old homestead where have 
lived and died, the greater portion of three 
generations. What memories were awak¬ 
ened by every nook and corner of the old 
house, and about the premises ! In every 
place I seemed to hear the sad refrain “No 
more—no more.” And yet, to me, with my 
convictions of life and death, sad memo¬ 
ries are a means of grace. I get nearer to 
my dead and to my God when I come close 
to crumbling shrines. Decay tightens the 
link to life, in its truest sense. Did you 
ever think the saddest things of life are the 
sweetest, by times: ’Tis true. 

Hearthstones around which once we met, 
Have crumbled, yet we can’t forget 
The faces that were gathered there, 
Vanished to-day—somewhere, somewhere ! 

I do not know all death implies, 

And yet I think, beyond the skies 
There is a place where it is said 
The angels dwell—with them, our dead. 

And they are angels, too, to-day 
And oft I wonder if they may 


1b 


Not show their love as in the years 
Before our eyes were dimmed with tears. 

It may be so. Perchance they wing 
Their way to earth that they may bring 
A word of comfort and of cheer 
To those who wait and long to hear. 

I sat within the old-time room, 

With spirit brooding in deep gloom, 

And yet I’m sure that I could see 
The loved ones, all that used to be. 

I wandered through the orchard old. 

Each moss-grown tree some story told 
Of one who erstwhile by my side 
Made all the earth seem glorified. 

And did I wander all alone, 

And only hear the sad wind moan? 

Not so; I know that I could see 
An angel form that walked with me. 

I heard the rustle of a wing. 

And voices sweet, I heard them sing. 

An aura shone above my head, 

And I was with my long lost dead. 

We call them dead, and yet we know 
There is no death; they only go 
Across the mystic border-line 
Twixt earthly things and forms divine 

The grave is but an earthen door. 
Concealing dust and nothing more. 
Immortal spirits—born again— 

Around the old haunts still remain. 

The living, if they will, may hold 
communion, as in days of old. 

Is love immortal? then there must 
Be way to show its hallowed trust. 

I hold each sacred passion known 
In life, in death, may still be shown. 

For death but amplifies the life 

That’s lived ’midst scenes of earthly strife. 

If all that endears earth be lost 
Beyond the grave, too great the cost. 

I’d spurn that life lest it conserve 
The things that love would fain preserve, 

I know my loved ones hover near, 

If I shall come within their sphere ; 

If I my spirit sight expand 
To see the blessed Spirit Land. 

Can this be wrong ? Then love is sin, 

And hope and trust and all within 
The scope of all the creeds men hold 
And teach and preach in language bold. 


It is wrong to estimate people’s worth by 
their wealth. Deeds are better than dol¬ 
lars. 






46 


DRtFTWOOt* 


God Knows Why. 

In the whirl of incident and the press of 
business, men manifest cold characteristics, 
yet there are tender emotions that are ever 
and anon quickened. I entered a home, 
that made me extremely sad. I do not 
know how or why it is, but, someway, when 
I visit a house where death has been, I feel 
a peculiar sadness come over me. Partic¬ 
ularly is this the case when the victim of 
death’s shaft, is the mother. Ah, sacred 
word! What hopes, what bright visions, 
what pathos, what power are implied in 
that name! When this benign being is 
taken away, it is only divine sight that can 
penetrate the gloom and see a bright light 
beyond. When “ mother” goes, home is 
broken up. What does it imply to break 
up a home? Alas ! there is only one way 
to tell and that is to have the experience. 

In this home were two beautiful little 
girls, bright as sunbeams, and as sweet as 
pansies. They chattered innocently about 
“ mama ” and talked hopefully of grand¬ 
ma’s, where they were going. In one box, 
already packed, I saw a doll baby, and 
sundry other child toys, that, no doubt, had 
one day absorbed the thought and interest 
of the loving mother, not less than they 
represented the joy of the little girls for 
whose happiness they were purchased— 
Ah, well ! Draw the curtain. Place away 
the dear mementoes—the articles hallowed 
by her tender touch ! Bathe them with 
your tears, and lay them away to mold and 
to a silence more deep and more awe-in¬ 
spiring than that of the grave itself. God 
knows why these things must be. I do not. 
Yet, let us not murmur. We are chastened 
by our tears. 


Whiskey first steals a man’s brains, and 
then runs away w r ith his purse. 


It is not always the man who eats pick- 
led pigs’ feet that walks on all fours. 


Men may gain favor for being fast, but 
only wit, beauty, modesty, gentleness and 
purity are admired in women. 


No Ray Of Hope Has Fled. 

How oft on wings of thought I fly 
Backward over the years, 

And though the journey cause a sigh, 

It mingles smiles with tears. 

I carry with me trophies won, 

While I recount the loss. 

If I go back when life was young, 

I find more crown than cross. 

I find more blessings in the w^ay, 

Than I can count of woes; 

More friends, with loving words to say, 
Than curses from my foes. 

And so my life, though in the sear 
And yellow autumn leaf, 

Has less of sadness than of cheer* 

And more of joy than grief. 

I bless God for the joy I’ve had, 

Nor blame him for the w'oe. 

If conduct has been good or bad, 

’Twill all be right I know. 

While I go backward with the years, 

I still may look ahead. 

A brighter vista yet appears— 

No ray of hope has fled. 

I know that eons yet unborn, 

Shall reconcile the past. 

And what may make me, here, forlorn. 
Will be my gain at last. 

I do not bow to man-made creeds 
That make my God unkind. 

For well I know that all my needs. 

In His good time, I’ll find. 

Eternal progress is the law 
That governs all the race, 

And from one God we all must draw, 
At proper time and place. 

The pangs of pain that vex us here; 
Remorse for all our sins, 

Will be outlived, in higher sphere, 
When spirit life begins. 


Progress has been knocking for ages at 
the door of Superstition, but the old dame, 
with her night-cap tied under her chin, 
has stuck her nose in a crack of the door 
and snarled out, “ Go away.” To-day she 
is opening the door a little wider, and 
Progress has succeeded in getting one foot 
inside. Look out for startling innovations 
in the next decade, in religion, science and 
government. 











DRIFTWOOD 


47 


Freddy's Letter. 

Dear papa, I have on my mind 
Something I want to say. 

So I will write this letter kind, 

And tell you all to-day. 

You will not chide me, will you pa? 

For it has pained me so. 

We cannot have but one dear ma— 

We should be good, you know,— 

No other friend so good and kind, 

No friendship, old or new, 

Search all the world we cannot find 
Another heart so true. 

Papa, I want to write about 
Some things I see and hear. 

Why do you often times speak out 
So harsh to mother dear? 

Sometimes when you are gone away 
I see a trembling tear. 

How sad if we should always stay 
With no sweet mama here ! 

No other friend so good and kind, 

No friendship, old or new, 

Search all the world we cannot find 
Another heart so true. 

Who then would cook and wash our clothes, 
And work for us all day ? 

And who, at night, would sooth our woes 
And who for us would pray? 

Papa, I do not think it right 
To once look mad, or say 
An ugly word to cause affright, 

And make her grieve that way. 

No other friend so good and kind, 

No friendship, old or new, 

Search all the world we cannot find 
Another heart so true. 

Then let us promise we will try 
And love her better still. 

What would we do were she to die? 

I think ’twould break our will. 

But that would be too late you know. 

For God will only give 
One mother to us here below 
In oUr dear home to live. 

No other friend so good and kind, 

No friendship, old or new, 

Search all the world we cannot find 
Another heart so true. 


I observe this: The man that keeps his 
head is the man who gets ahead. 


Good health is what everybody must 
bank on. A healthy, hopeful, active old 
person is better than a sickly, sour, dis¬ 
couraged young person, when it comes to 
urging the battle of life to its final goal 
and victory, which is the grave. 


Detected. 

She wore a hat just like a man, 
Coat, pants and necktie, too; 
But one thing overthrew her plan, 
She couldn’t tie her shoe. 


Many a millionaire has his money in 
moonshine. 


Fire purifies offal, but the flame of pas¬ 
sion does not purify character. 


When the follies of men confront them, 
The indulgences they have had, 
Come back to sternly condemn them, 
And to render them doubly sad. 


If men would stand by principles, with 
half the fidelity with which they defend 
their prejudices, poor truth would have a 
better show in the world. 


“Ten Nights in a Bar-room” isn’t in it, 
with ten drinks in a minute, for then the 
whole world makes a circus parade through 
a man’s brain. 


As Lived To-Day. 

What is life? A giddy whirl 
In fashion’s mazes, for a day. 

For man, his heaven is a girl 

With which to fool the day away. 
With women, a dazzle in the light, 
With diamonds flashing at the throat, 
A gentleman that’s out of sight, 

Who has the cash and stylish coat, 

An automobile in which to whiz 
Along the over-thronged highway, 
With eyes alert with which to quiz, 
And ears to hear what people say, 
Rich wines indulged at the hotel, 

Then dinner at a grand cafe; 

A midnight jag—I’m pained to tell— 
And that is life as lived to-day. 

But this one thing I’d not forget 
To mention in my simple rhyme, 

’Tis life as lived by the “ Smart Set,” 
And a reproach to age or clime. 


In an aristocratic government, blood se¬ 
cures place ; but here, position is a form 
of merchandise to be bought and sold, and 
demands no greater respect than any other 
commodity, unless there is coupled with it 
a conscientious discharge of duty, 















DRIFTWOOD 


48 


Home Wreckers. 

Home is the dearest institution on earth. 
Around it cluster the highest interests, the 
sweetest joys, the holiest sentiments and 
the deepest feelings. But what is home 
without the presiding genius of a true, lov¬ 
ing and devoted wife and mother? She is 
the angel whose eye is the quickest to see, 
and whose wing is fleetest to fly when 
danger threatens. How is the hearthstone 
desolated when she goes out of the door 
for the last time to enter through the nar¬ 
row door of the grave, there to be shut in 
forever! ’Tis then we know what the 
word home means in its truest, its holiest 
sense. The church and the school have 
their mission, but they decline as home at¬ 
tachments decrease and home interests 
wane. An institution so sacred and so 
delicate in its relationship, needs to be 
guarded with the most zealous care. Not 
by the vigilant wife and mother, merely, 
but by every member of the household, 
especially by him who is the nominal head. 
A spirit of faultfinding, a habit of coarse 
speech, a disposition to wrangle, a desire 
to absent himself from its sacred precincts 
on the slightest pretext and the most fre¬ 
quent and menacing dangers to the fireside. 
I don't know that men really mean to en¬ 
danger their homes by their irregularities 
of conduct and their failure to manifest 
any of the endearments of the true hus¬ 
band and father, or that they utterly fail 
to appreciate their blessings in their fam¬ 
ilies, I don’t know that they purposely fail 
in all these, but I do know that there are 
thousands of men to-day who would wreck 
their homes by their dissolute habits were 
it not for the good judgement, the forbear¬ 
ance, and the forgiving dispositions of their 
wives. There are thousands of husbands 
who do not know anything about a woman’s 
nature, her wants and her worth, and never 
will until they learn the bitter lesson bend¬ 
ing over the tombstone of a faithful, lov¬ 
ing and forgiving wife, who died early of 
overwork and worry. It isn’t great crimes 
that wreck homes, so much as failure on 
the part of husbands to realize that they 
have no greater privileges in the field of 
sinful indulgence than their wives. The 


husband has no better right to get drunk, 
to stay out nights, to visit wicked places of 
amusement than his consort. If wives 
were to take, even for once, the privilege 
their husbands take every week, two-thirds 
of the homes of this country would be 
broken up inside of forty-eight hours. 
Husbands, I pray you think about these 
things, To the close student of human na¬ 
ture, and the keen observer of social cus¬ 
tom it is apparent that we are drifting into 
an era of marital infidelity that threatens 
not only the peace, but the perpetuity of 
the sacred institution of the home. Let us 
talk plain. I know no reason why a man 
isn’t under as great a moral obligation to 
lead a life of chastity as a woman. The 
fact that woman has to discharge the holy 
function of maternity, ought to be a reason 
for regarding that sacred office with feel¬ 
ings of the highest respect, mercy, and 
charity. I care not under what conditions 
the function is made to take expression. It 
is nature, and hence holy, and the man 
that will wilfully outrage nature and seek 
to shirk responsibility is a fiend. 


The Matrimonial Mill. 

’Tis true the marriage mill grinds out. 

Year after year its grist of shame. 

People scarce know what they’re about, 
And keep on sinning just the same. 

Girls in their early “teens” have beaux, 
And get right in the social swim, 

They marry, and the sequel shows, 

It is a fad or girlish whim. 

In six months time the work of minister 
Is set aside by court’s decree, 

Of quick divorce, and they’re released 
From marriage bonds; again they’re free, 

Another half year scarce goes round, 

Ere young grass-widow meets her mate. 
Her “soul affinity” is found— 

She tries again the married state. 

Why better in wedlock to begin, 

And never once reproach her fate, 

Than out of it? Since sin is sin, 

Why, those who fall, basely berate? 


We look at our own faults with the naked 
eye, but in viewing the faults of others 
we use a microscope. 







DRIFTWOOD 


49 


“Grandpa Jolly.” 

Well do I remember, 

When a kid, long long ago, 

How gladly I would welcome 
The coming of any show. 

I studdied the bilbboards daily, 

With eyes dilated wide, 

I wanted to be an actor— 

The truth is not denied. 

But the realm of greatest wonder, 
Clearest pictured to my mind, 

Was the gay sawdust arena— 

To all else I was blind— 

The wodrous circus pavilion 
Was all the world to me. 

I’d give up all my nickles, 

The wonderful clown to see. 

I haven’t quite forgotten, 

Though my head is white as snow, 
The marvels of the circus ; 

Though old, I like to go. 
t study still the bill-board, 

And read the papers, too. 

I never tire of excitement, 

As some men claim they do. 

I own I like the circus, 

And like to go to plays. 

They call me “ Grandpa Jolly,” 

And say I have childish ways. 

I learned the lesson early, 

To live while life shall last. 

I think I’ll live the longer, 

By living a little fast. 


Christmas Forethought. 

It is eminently fitting that one day in the 
year should be set aside for the offices of 
affection and good cheer. 

When friend remembers friend, 

And when foe forgets foe 
And in the bonds of peace 
Lets past resentments go. 

Aside from its religious significance, the 
day should be hallowed for the opportu¬ 
nity afforded for bestowing tokens of es¬ 
teem and pledges of affection. It is a time 
for forgetting social rivalries and bitter 
business competition and for strengthening 
the bonds of brotherhood. Let all re-echo 
the song of the angels: ‘‘Glory to God, 
peace on earth, good will toward men.” 


County fairs exhibit many fine specimen 
of swine, but they can’t commence with 
the hogs to be seen in a street car. 


It’s All Right. 

Weary, weary, weary; 

Dreary, dreary, dreary ! 

Life has nothing cherry 

For the soul any more. 

Yet half of our sorrow 
Is that which we borrow 
From the unseen to-morrow. 

Not what we have in store. 

The world is all right, 

And everything bright, 

If only our sight 

Be not distorted. 

All evil is good, 

That’s not understood, 

If only it could 

Just be assorted. 

Then why this despair? 

We know “ over there, ” 

That all will be fair, 

And all will be light. 

For when we shall take 
The sleep that don’t wake 
We know He will make 

The morning all right. 


There is a difference in the estimation 
of the public between the man behind the 
bars of a prison and the one behind the 
grates of a railway ticket office or the 
cashier’s window in a bank; but many 
times there isn’t so great a difference in 
the character of the inmates, after all. 


Most. 

This is an age of fads and fools, 

Of platforms made of rotten planks. 

We have great churches and good schools 
And yet it is an age of cranks. § 

People discuss their dress and drink, 

The meat and everything they eat. 

They look for microbes in the sink 
And forbid spitting in the street. 

Ah me, we’re getting scared to death. 

We might as well give up the ghost. 
The air is foul that makes our breath 
And we are dead already, most. 


The value of riches is not so much in the 
comfort that money secures, as the vanity 
that is gratified in its display. It is com¬ 
paratively rare that people covet money 
for the good they might do with it, but 
from the baser motive to outrival others in 
social position. 










50 


DRIFTWOOD 


Those Good Old Days. 

How strangely things have changed since 
then— 

Say fifty years ago— 

We have a different class of men, 

And women, too, I know. 

They didn’t care so much for style, 

Nor boast of what they had, 

Nor were they talking all the while 
About some foolish fad. 

They went to church the good old way, 

As every one should do, 

And kept the holy Sabbath day— 

And they were honest, too— 

’Twas very rare to hear of graft, 

Or any crime at all, 

Nor did the people all go daft 
Over a game of ball. 

They were content to travel slow, 

And in a quiet way, 

Nor take a dozen trunks, for show, 

As is their wont to-day. 

The people did not long to sail 
Up through the atmosphere, 

Or go like lightning on the rail, 

Or automobile steer. 

I ponder oft those good old days 
When men were just and true ; 

When preachers’ prayers and poets’ lays 
Brought something good to view ; 

When people used words to convey 
The thought they had in mind, 

And when they did not think and say 
“ ’Tis simple to be kind. ” 

When statesmen all were just and good, 
And worked the best they knew, 

For justice, truth and brotherhood, 

And kept the right in view, 

When party policy was hid 
Behind the broader plan 
That something thought and something did 
To help the cause of man. 


He would be a genius that could invent 
a process for taking the curiosity out of the 
very curious people. 


A Rare Lay. 

The hen is a busy bird, 

She scratches for her prey, 

Nor does she hunt it quite by chance, 
She cackleates her way. 

She is, withal, quite musical, 

And sings the live-long day, 

But though she sings from morn till 
night, 

She only has one lay. 


I Would Forget. 

The songs that once my heart made gay, 
The smiles that made me glad, 

I hear and see them all to-day; 

The vision makes me sad. 

Could I forget, new life I’d feel, 

The world would have some charm, 
But memory’s phantoms ever steal 
Around me, to alarm. 

Good angel, close I pray, for me, 

The windows and the doors, 

Of all the past; I would not see 
The light that through them pours. 

Let all the past be barren—dead, 

And only let me see 
The feeble ray of hope that’s shed 
Upon futurity. 


The man who has time for idle talk will 
find time for vicious conduct. 


A working man or merchant, profession¬ 
al man or mechanic, and in fact any man, 
unless he has enough of this world’s goods 
to absolutely insure himself and family 
against any possible contingency of ever 
coming to want, better buy a farm than to 
put the price of one into an automobile. 
A farm is a good thing to fall back on; the 
auto, a good thing to fall down on. 


When we look ahead, a year, how long! 

When backward glance we take, 

’ Tis like the passing of some sweet song, 
Or pleasure trip we make.— 

The journey of a single day, 

And life has passed like it away. 


The sheep is to be envied in the fact 
that nobody ever asks if his coat is all wool. 


Why is a woman’s tongue like a noisy 
brook? Because it never stops running. 


If good resolutions were all rounded out 
in results, we’d see Eden restored. 


With some men nothing is sacred but 
their own selfish wishes. 


Doctors and preachers know the best 
places to make calls. 














DRIFTWOOD 


51 


Shall We Celebrate? 

Yes, let the nation celebrate, 

And let the cannon’s boom, 

But do not underestimate 

Poor Labor’s cloud of gloom. 

The Fourth recalls the gladsome day 
That valor, freedom gave. 

But who is there that dare to say 
It freed the working slave? 

Aristocrat, with hoarded wealth, 

Stands at the temple door, 

And by his might and by his stealth, 
Springs shackles on the poor. 

Still, let the proud, old banner wave, 
The ensign of the free ! 

We’re not disheartened, but are brave 
To fight for liberty. 

The blood of labor saved the flag, 

And saved the Union too, 

And though we do not wish to brag, 
We’re willing still to do. 

Of liberty we proudly sing, 

And boast our land is free, 

But what avail, unless it bring 
To us, equality? 

Monopoly, with clamps of steel, 

May grind us in the dust, 

But long as we have hearts to feel 
We’ll fight the giant, “ Trust.” 

The right to rule, which some men claim 
To be a right divine, 

Is but the cold and cruel aim 
To rob their human kind. 

O Liberty ! Proud Liberty ! 

Enchantress of the world, 

Thy symbol ever must be free, 

So let it be unfurled ! 

We love that banner of the brave ; 

Revere what it implies, 

And love to see it proudly wave 
Beneath the bending skies. 

But still, we want to see as well, 

Under its starry fold, 

A pride that every breast shall swell, 
That blood is good as gold. 


Will And Work Win. 

Determined effort brings results 
In any field of labor, 

And he who wills wins the stunts 
With pickaxe, pen or saber. 


Usually people practice economy when 
they have nothing to save. 


The Auto Fiend. 

Will you take a ride with me 
In my automobile grand? 

’Tis the finest you will see 
In all the blooming land. 

We’ll fly like lightning down the pike 
Amid a cloud of dust, 

And scare the people all we like, 

And kill them if we must. 

I’m monarch of the country road, 

My right none dare dispute. 

I run down any sort of load 
That’s drawn by man or brute. 

The slow-poke horse has had his day, 
Vanish coach, trap and gig, 

For me they must all clear the way, 

I spurn plebeian rig. 

What rights have common people, pray, 
That rich men need respect ? 

They’re made of very common clay, 

And style never affect. 

I scorn their pedigree and birth, 

And treat them with disdain. 

I wish that they’d get off the earth 
And ne’er come back again. 


Don’t feel envious when you see people 
riding in an automobile. You don’t know 
the amount of the mortgage. 


We’re Selfish Creatures All. 

Men pass from sight and out of mind, 
Whatever they pursue. 

The world is never over-kind 
In bringing truth to view. 

’Tis far more anxious to reveal 
A weakness or a fault, 

Than vicious conduct to conceal, 

Or virtue to exalt. 

We’re selfish creatures one and all, 
Whatever be our aim. 

We rather see a brother fall, 

Than help him win a name. 

We cannot see the higher good, 

Nor reach sublimer end, 

Except it be through brotherhood. 
And effort to befriend. 


“ Charity is not puffed up, ” but often 
those who bestow it are. 


The objection to ghosts is that they are 
always shadowing people. 


Many persons die of diseases without 
contracting them. 













52 


DRIFTWOOD 


Nobody Cares. 

What do we care? He didn’t live here ; 
He’s only a tramp no one holds dear. 

Jeer and jest in a reckless way, 

’Tis only a tramp, with no one to say 
A tender word, or heave a sigh— 

What matter how a tramp shall die? 

Brown his clothes, with the dust of the 
road, 

Death came as a friend to ease his load 
Of grief and sense of bitter scorn, 

The world reserves for those forlorn. 

Then throw his mangled corpse aside ! 
What matter how the poor tramp died? 

Once he was watched with a mother’s care; 
Once fragile fingers toyed with his hair. 
Once he was pressed to a loving breast— 
Never mind now, for he is at rest. 

The great world hums and the crowds go by, 
But nobody cares how the tramp shall die. 

Once a home, with rich comforts supplied 
Was his, with never a wish denied. 

But the years go by and changes come, 
And hearts grow cold and lips are dumb, 
While the Pharisee passes the other side, 
And nobody cares how the poor tramp died. 


Parents do more than their duty when 
they slave for children old enough and 
well enough to work for themselves, and to 
help bear the burdens of the family. It is 
never a wise mother that will scrub or rub 
all day in the kitchen, while the young 
ladies of the household sit in the parlor 
and pound the piano, or peruse some sickly 
sentimental love story that outrages, by its 
extravagant and unnatural pictures of life 
and character, every true sensibility of the 
unperverted soul. That mother is not only 
imprudent, but she is criminally indulgent. 
She is not doing her duty to her family 
nor the state. Oh the sins of the house¬ 
hold, committed unconsciously, perhaps, 
but sins nevertheless. 


If you can’t have what you want learn 
to take what you can get and not fret. It 
is foolish to refuse bread and starve to 
death longing for cake. 


It is questionable whether it can be 
called an age of improvement, when they 
invent machines that know more than 
men. 


Waiting. 

I wait the dawning of the morn. 

And then I’ll gladly say “ good-bye” 
Not that this life I fain would scorn, 
But that I think it gain to die. 

Our selfish nature prompts us all 

To seek with keenest sense, the good, 
If there be rest beneath the pall 
I would not stay it if I could. 

When comes the time for Nature’s 
throes 

In borning souls to higher life, 

Her process I would not oppose, 

For ’tis a change with pleasure rife. 

Death but unlocks the prison door 
That lets the captive soul go free, 
And like imprisoned bird 'twill soar 
And spread its wings in ecstacy. 


When a woman knows a thing, she knows 
it; when a man knows it, he only thinks 
he knows it, and invariably gives in to the 
woman. He may dispute a few rounds, 
but in the end he walks off and calls him¬ 
self names for saying anything. 


“I hear a great deal about prosperity,” 
said a poor laborer on the city streets, as 
he sat down on the curbstone to eat a din¬ 
ner that would disgust a dog, ‘‘but I rather 
hear less and see more.” 


Whiskey is the most seductive thing in 
the world. One drink makes a man strong 
as a tiger, but three drinks make him as 
weak as a kitten. 


People after they pass life’s meridian 
are apt to lapse into lassitude, when they 
should not permit their energies to wane. 


I have but little confidence in the church 
member who puts his politics ahead of his 
religion. 


Where everybody is suspicious of a 
stranger, look out for a community of 
rogues. 


Success is estimated not only by dollars 
and cents, but by duties discharged. 















DRIFTWOOD 


53 


The Early Settlers. 

They gather in at the hotel 
On rainy days at early morn 
To help the tide of lies to swell 

And treat “ the rounds” to distilled corn. 

They come from every part of town, 

The pioneers, trembling and old, 

The old arm chairs to hold them down 
And spin their yarns, all gray with mold. 

There’s old man Ebenezer Sly, 

Who’s never absent from the place, 

He’s drank enough of “ good old rye ” 

To overflow a sawmill race. 

And chewed enough of native weed 
To stock a city for a year. 

When he gets mellow there’s no need— 

His volley you have got to hear. 

You can’t escape him if you try, 

He’ll take a seat close by your side. 

If you arise he’ll stay right by, 

For all his yarns are cut and dried— 

“ When fust I cum ter this yere town,” 

He spits and solemnly begins, 

“ I cum erlong with Silas Brown, 

An’ Sile’s good wife yer know hed twins. 

“ One night, one baby hed ther croup— 
Ther doctor lived a mile away— 

An’ Silas he wus in ther soup 
Lest I wud go fer doctor Day. 

‘‘Ther night wus dark, ther woods wus dense, 
An’ bears an’ wolves wus thick as fleas; 

I only hed fur my defense 

A pair uv hands, sir, ef yer please. 

“ And old dirk knife, with rusty blade, 

I carried fastened ter my belt, 

But with thet knife yer bet I made 
Deep slashes in each shaggy pelt. 

“ I didn’t count ther wolves I killed 
Thet night, because I hadn’t time, 

But on next day the varmints filled 
A wagon full, no man cud climb.” 

At this the neighbors clapped their hands 
And asked old Sly to take a drink. 

‘ Of course, he rarely understands” 

Did you remark?—well I don’t think. 

When Sly had finished and had set 
His glass back down upon the bar, 

Sam Brown, whose quivering lips were wet 
With something taken from a jar, 

Said he could discount yarns like that 
’Bout things that happened years ago, 
And that he would bet his hat 

That all the folks would say ’twas so. 


So when he’d changed his quid around 
To bulge the other side his face, 

He told about the bears he found 

And killed, a half mile from his place. 

“ ’Twas ’long ’bout January First, 

One day when I wus hoein’ corn, 

Ther wus a storm, ther very worst 
I ever seen sense I wus born. 

“ I thought I better reach ther house 
( Uv course I hed my gun with me ) 

I see a moving uv ther browse. 

An’ knowed right off what it must be. 

“ Wall, sir, ’for night that afternoon, 

Ther carcases thet laid eround, 

Wus thick as hairs on a rackcoon— 

I cuddent walk upon ther ground.” 

Again the drinks were ordered up, 

And all agreed that Brown beat Sly. 

But Ebenezer took his “ sup,” 

Then said he “ knowed it wus a lie.” 

When all with sleeves had wiped their chins 
And filled to brim their pipes of clay, 
Then Ruben Marsh slowly begins 
To count the fish he caught one day. 

At this, old Sly began to beg 
Of Rube to let the yarn go by. 

“ Fer well I know you’ll stick yer peg 
Higher then I ken ef I try. 

“ I’ll buy ther drinks fer every one, 

Ef you will only sot right down, 

There is no other mother’s son 

Kin lie like you in this yere town.” 

The meeting then adjourned one week, 
Unless perchance it rained before, 

In which event they all would seek 
To find the welcome tavern door. 


A good pulpit practical talk, right from 
the heart, is worth a dozen sound, studied 
sermons from the head. Religion appeals 
to the emotions. Christian work bears 
fruit in proportion to the love and sympa¬ 
thy manifested. A voice full of emotion 
and tender feeling, and an eye moistened 
with tears goes to the heart, while logic 
only appeals to the intellect; and it is the 
heart that prompts to action when religious 
questions are under consideration. Argu¬ 
ment is not the Christian worker’s weapon. 


It is all right in this struggle age for a 
man to keep his eyes and ears open, but 
not all night seated at a card table. 







54 


DRIFTWOOD 


War Unnecessary. 

The barbarities and the horrors of war 
are certainly appalling, and it does seem 
that in this late epoch of the world’s his¬ 
tory—this boasted age of enlightenment 
and Christian civilization, that there might 
be some method of settling disputes be¬ 
tween nations without bloodshed and the 
terrible devastations that follow in the 
march of armies. It is no more necessary 
for nations to resort to taking life in set¬ 
tling disputes than for individuals, and the 
public sentiment and conscience ought to 
be educated to a higher standard of hu¬ 
manity and a higher moral sentiment in 
regard to the sacredness of human life and 
the perfidy of causing human suffering. I 
believe that war is no more justifiable by 
the inexorable decrees of nature, or the 
stern demands of necessity, than is high¬ 
way robbery by the reckless bandit, and it 
reflects on the moral tone and the intelli¬ 
gence of any nation that freely advocates 
a war policy. I hate the word War, and 
think we ought to educate our children to 
hate it. I would have expunged from the 
text books of our school that ghastly word 
—that term that reeks with barbarity. 

The flippancy with which people dis¬ 
cuss war, and the eagerness with which 
they recommend it and seek to involve 
their country in it, shows to me, not only 
lack of statesmanship, but lack of patriot¬ 
ism. Sympathy for a struggling nation is 
all right, but if that sympathy shall deso¬ 
late our own firesides of loved ones, shall 
prostrate business and bring financial ruin 
to commercial and manufacturing interests, 
it is better not to be too hasty and too em¬ 
phatic in expressing that emotion. 


Have Faith. 

Sweet Spring will come we know some 
day, 

And flowers scare off Winter’s gloom. 
The Wind will sweep the clouds away 
With his long-handled sky-broom. 

She always takes her time to come, 

As for a woman, we have to wait, 

And open hold the door at home, 

While she adjusts her hat on straight. 


Love’s Pledge Renewed. 

Wife: 

You do not love as fondly now 
As was your wont before 
You took, at alter, marriage vow 
To love me and adore. 

You are so cold and distant, too; 

So formal in your ways, 

I wish that you again would woo, 

As in your lover days. 

Say sweet things to me, night and morn, 
And kiss me at the door, 

For then my heart were not forlorn, 

And I would you adore. 

Our wedded life were then complete, 
Love’s dream we’d dream once more, 
And jealousy could ne’er defeat 
The confidence of yore. 

Husband: 

’Tis business cares, my dearest one, 

That seem my love to chill ; 

I love the same as when you won 
Me captive to your will. 

I am your slave the same to-day, 

And at your feet I bow, 

And just as truly now I say 
I have renewed my vow. 

’Twas Christmas eve that we were wed, 
Just fifteen years ago, 

And now to prove my love not dead, 

A Christmas pledge I’ll show. 

Costlier ring, this Christmas day, 

I place on hand as fair, 

And press you to my heart and say 
I have a gift more rare. 


People often wish they could get away 
from their memory, and yet it is the guide 
to the best goals in life. It is the stumb¬ 
ling-stone in the road of progress. If we 
didn’t hit our toes against it occasionally, 
to admonish us to look back, we couldn’t 
see our way at all clear to the future. We 
want to remember God has made human 
nature to fit responsibility, regardless of 
the fact that we think it might be improved. 
Were we to undertake the task, it would 
prove an instance of perversion rather 
than proper direction. 


The passion for show is greater than the 
desire for absolute comfort, with the aver¬ 
age family. 












DRIFTWOOD 


55 


The Gospel Of True Brotherhood. 

You must quell prejudice of mind, 

As well as seek to guide the hand. 

And love and sympathy you’ll find 
The forces best to take command. 

Brute force may overcome, perchance, 
While reason’s in rebellion still. 

But thrust of bayonet or lance 
Can never conquer human will. 

The strong have ever sought to bend 
The will, by over-burdened back, 

Instead of acting part of friend 

To help the weak get what they lack. 

’Tis saying trite, and yet ’tis true. 
Convictions are not ruled by force. 

Old lines of thought men will pursue, 

In heart; though feet may change their 
course. 

Blade and bullet has been the cry, 

Instead of love and charity. 

And millions have been forced to die 
Who sought the road to liberty. 

That spirit is extant to-day. 

Pale Poverty with nerveless hand, 

Stands by the over-thronged highway, 

And arrogance still rules the land. 

Work and wealth in conflict fierce, 

While Purity and Pride is slain. 

With spear of prejudice to pierce 

The heart that hopes, but strives in vain. 

And shall a better day have birth; 

The epoch of a higher good, 

When peace shall reign upon the earth 
And all men seek true Brotherhood? 

Yes, it will come as true as God 

Shall Nature’s forces still command. 
He’ll smite the tyrant with the rod 
He holds in His Almighty hand. 

Wars are begotten of man’s greed, 

If serried ranks in conflict meet, 

Or working men who strike for need 
Of higher wage, in shop or street. 

And peace shall reign when all are just, 
And nobly seek each other’s good. 

And when they strive to form a trust 
Whose bond is truer brotherhood. 

In Nature’s statutes I can see 
No warrant for the rule of might, 

Peace evangels appeal to me, 

Wherever I direct my sight. 

Nor do I find the Son of Man 

Taught other than the law of peace. 

His intercourse with men I scan 

To learn the lesson, strife should cease. 


’Tis only when we sadly turn 
To con the history of men. 

That we, unwilling, yet must learn 
The sanguine record traced by pen. 

Hence, I opine the time will come 

When men shall kneel at holier shrine 
Than that of greed, and lips be dumb 
That would dispute the law divine. 

To hasten it, I emphasize, 

Among God’s agencies of good, 

The need that we more highly prize 
The gospel of true Brotherhood. 


Wisdom is not a great mountain of ac¬ 
cumulated facts that one can go to and 
carry off what he needs for the demands 
of the day, as he goes to the market stall 
in the morning and purchases material 
supplies. There is only one way it can be 
secured, and that is through the process of 
experience. One must dig for it as the 
miner, with shovel and pick and pan, 
searches for gold. Nor does it come done 
up in college parchment rolls, tied with 
delicate blue or red ribbons, to be hung on 
the office or library wall. It comes in 
packages, true, purchased with struggle, 
with bitter tears. The purchase price is 
experience in the school of life. Too 
many fail, because they think they are go¬ 
ing to stumble on to it as they would find a 
pearl in their oyster soup, by chance. 


A Tramp’s Confession. 

I’ve sampled all the whiskey ’round: 

I’ve bummed from Main to Mexico, 
But in my travels have not found 
The men who had “a half a show.” 

They’re always finding fault with this 
Or that, and blame their fellow men 
For everything that goes amiss, 

No matter where it be or when, 

And so I say, I do not care 
To pity any in their state, 

If they are poor, they only share 
A well-deserved fate. 


Men may think they are strong, but there 
is no man but that may be strengthened by 
the counsel of a good wife. 


A guilty conscience is the thief of peace. 









$6 


DRtPTWOOD 


At The Station. 

Strange how people rush, here and there 
Hither and thither, who knows where? 

By boat and train, trolley and wheel, 
They scarce take time to eat a meal. 

They’re in the whirl, the mad’ning rush, 
Past one another do they brush. 

But soon shall come the end of life, 

Then what avail the causeless strife? 

The sexton’s spade will cover all— 

The rich, the poor, the great, the small. 
The grave will be their common lot, 

And all, alike, will be forgot. 

Yet grab your grip, Oh, greedy man 
And beat your neighbor, if you can. 

A minute lost may seal your fate, 

Or farthing lose to your estate. 

I sit and watch the eager throng, 

As to and fro they rush along, 

And wonder if they really know 
What ’tis they want, or where to go. 

Many no doubt are off their base, 

And out upon a wild goose chase, 

In quest of sport or sordid gain, 

And sowing seed to harvest pain— 

Clang! goes the bell, and “All aboard,” 
They rush like a wild Indian horde— 

The whistle sounds, they speed away, 
Eager as if ’twere their last day. 


Just By Smiling. 

He never in a street car rode, 

And never owned an auto. 

And yet a man of lofty plan, 

Who accomplished all he sought to. 

In finance he was “up to snuff;” 

In schemes for boodle, bully. 

He knew enough to get the “stuff,” 
And understood men fully. 

Reared in the wild and wooly West, 
He feared no keen competing. 

For every test, beneath his vest 
A valiant heart was beating. 

He talked just like a solemn priest, 
All thought of guile beguiling; 

Set up the drinks—did other feats, 
And sold gold bricks by smiling. 


A great city is the place where people 
from smaller cities and country villages go 
to show their feathers and lose their fleece. 


It is amusing to see young men in a 7x9 
town try to be fast. 


Fitted For Their Day. 

There never was a man so great 
In any field that you may name, 

But I am here to firmly state 

A million more could play his game. 

The epoch furilishes the man 

For every place the time may need. 

There is no royalty on plan. 

Nor any preference of creed. 

Don’t let suspicion sway your mind, 

Nor prejudice lead you astray, 

Have confidence and you will find 
That men are fitted for their day. 

Warrior, president or priest, 

However gifted he may be, 

There are a million more, at least, 
Endowed as nobly as is he. 

’Tis foolish then to bow in dust 
To one man who position holds. 

Better that all should have your trust— 
True homage is that the race enfolds 

Let party papers have their way 
In uttering their fulsome praise, 

Who heeds what lying papers say 
Will be in error all his days. 

I measure men by standards high 
Above the politician’s art; 

The scheme of boss or cunning cry 
Of poltroon who performs his part. 


You make your own life. Your neigh¬ 
bors may think they could improve it, but 
even so, they would be obliged to get your 
consent before changing the pattern. 


In Its Glory. 

Now the bloom is on the bonnet, 
And the glow is on the cheek 

Of the pretty girls that don it, 

And true admiration seek. 

All the glories of fair Flora 
Are upon the brim and crown, 

While with grasses, green or hoary, 
It is fairly loaded down. 

But the world is in the bonnet, 

That is, woman’s world, I mean. 

Since their hearts are set upon it, 
Why not want it to be seen ? 


When we contemplate the conduct of a 
great many men, it seems as if God would 
be justified in experimenting on another 
Eden and leaving Adam out, or making 
Eve first. 










bkiiFTWOOb 


57 


Wait. 

I never worry nor complain, 

Whate’er the weather be, 

I know that God will not explain 
His providence fully to me. 

And so I wait, knowing I’ll see 
In time, that it is good for me. 

If but impatient world could wait 
To trace effect back to its cause, 

I’m sure ’twould have no cause to state 
Defect in any of His laws. 

But men would bow their heads and say 
’Tis best that God should have His way. 

We err if we anticipate 

Too anxiously events to come. 

What good repining ? better wait 
Time’s revelation, and be dumb. 
There’s no power in our complaint, 
Eternal laws know no restraint. 


If it were against the law to write love 
stories there would be fewer divorces. 


The reason marriage is so often a failure 
is because girls estimate men by the stand¬ 
ard of novels, before they try wedded life. 


The paragon of virtue usually turns out 
to be a pigmy in vice. The stalwart 
scoundrel makes no pretentions to being 
good, and the really good man never boasts 
of his virtues. 


Wisdom is experience crystalized in life; 
and the wisest man in history was the man 
whose daily life conformed closest to the 
laws of his being, whether Solomon or 
Socrates. 


The man who has no one to love or look 
after or care for but himself, is the busiest 
man in the world if he does his duty, for 
the absence of responsibility is the surest 
source of temptation. 


Science is nature correctly interpreted, 
and religion is science properly applied to 
life. We may have beliefs, but knowledge 
is what gives power of adjustment; and 
harmonious relations between life and law, 
is the highest and truest expression of re¬ 
ligion. 


Alley Or Avenue. 

I walk along a city street, 

A stylish thoroughfare, 

Where people one another meet, 

Going from the house of prayer. 
They walk with proud and haughty air, 
And then I wonder was Christ there ? 

I walk along a dingy street, 

An alley bleak and bare, 

Where want and woe and sorrow meet 
In dungeons of despair. 

I see no beauty anywhere, 

But oh, I know that Christ is there. 

For didn’t He delight to go 
Among the lowly bred ? 

And didn’t He have wish to know 
That all the poor were fed ? 

Nor did He have respect of place 
Where He bestowed His healing grace. 

In alley or in avenue, 

Throughout the world to-day, 

His spirit strives, that all pursue 
The brighter, better way. 

He sheds the warmth of sacred fire 
Wherever there is deep desire. 


The person that is ready to believe evil 
of another is no more a friend than the 
one who speaks evil of him. 


The man who is constantly shooting off 
his mouth may be said to be practicing 
with an air-gun. 


A person’s piety is best measured with 
the collection platter, for anything one 
really enjoys he is willing to pay for. 


Flowers are the smiles of God and the 
language of angels by which they seek to 
tell the world something of the delights of 
Heaven. Happy are they who study the 
character of God, through the idiom of 
flowers and birds and brooks and clouds 
and the blue star-gemmed sky. “ No man 
hath seen God face to face,” but all may 
see Him in these ineffable expressions of 
His character, and be moulded by them in 
His image, if they will. 

I see His presence in the rose, 

I sense Him in the trees. 

He’s in the rain and winter snows ; 

I feel Him in the breeze. 















58 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Unsung Hero. 

With chisel, mallet, saw and plane; 

With square and level and bit, 

And thought of brain and muscle’s strain, 
He fashions the world’s outfit 
Of mechanism by which men thrive 
And commerce works her din 
In cities where the millions strive 
And hope and fail and win. 

At rattling loom and at the wheel, 

With genius bright and muscle strong, 
He plies his trade and can but feel 
He helps the needy world along, 

In grime and smoke and steam he stands, 
A modern Hercules of Art. 

And by the cunning of his hands 
Performs the mighty heroe’s part. 

But what of him; does the world e’er sing? 

Hears he a single trumpet blast ? 

Is he to the world an uncrowned king 
That men salute when he is passed? 
No rank, no honor comes to him ; 

No place on lofty scroll of fame, 

And when in death his eyes grow dim, 
Forgotten is his work and name. 

Lest some bright angel from the spheres 
Shall sing, with trumpet tongue, 

Of hero brave who through the years 
Ne’er heard his triumphs sung. 
Ungrateful world may stint its praise, 

Or spurn the craftsman’s skill, 

But angel tongues their peans raise 
Where human lips are still. 


Men think more of honor than of hon¬ 
esty ; nor is the first dependent on the last 
by any means— 

The struggle for life 
Is a struggle for fame, 

And the bitterest strife 
Is the strife for name. 


How long, I wonder, will people tolerate 
the perpetration of all sorts of crime by 
religious fanatics under the plea of doing 
God’s will ! God is not responsible for 
breaches of law, or for violence of any 
kind, in fact. There may be what we call 
throes in Nature, but it is only the equal¬ 
izing of forces that always ultimate in 
good. Human violence, or the destruction 
of life or property, is never justified, even 
in the name of war, and w r ill no more be 
practiced when we shall reach the age of 
altruism. 


The Keen Kid Kens Things. 

Athletics is ther fad ter day, 

It matters not erbout ther age. 

If old or young its all ther same— 

It’s struck our house an’ its ther rage. 

Ma, she has got it worst of all ; 

Then pa, he comes next in ther list, 

An’ little Jim is next ter him 
In practice fer a pugilist. 

An’ Sarah Ann, oh my ! she’s spry. 

I’ll bet a cat agin a coon, 

She kin beat in her high-leap feat 

Ther cow thet jumped over the moon. 

An’ Phebe Jane can git right down 
An’ sprint ter knock all rivals out, 

She kin run a mile a minute when 
Ther is men ter rubber erbout. 

An’ gran’ma—she’s ’bout ninety-eight— 
Fer all uv thet she’s up in G. 

She takes a ten mile walk each day, 

Ter get more muscle, don’t yer see ? 

Then there’s Aunt Julia ; an old maid, 
Whose winters number sixty-two. 

I’d like to see ther circus trick 
Thet my dear auntie cudn’t do. 

Nurse dreams erbout ther nation’s game, 
An’ in her sleep I hear her call: 

“ Slide Kelly, slide ;” w’ud you berlieve, 
Ther baby too is playin’ bawl. 

In fact ter sum it up, I’ll say 

Ther craze has struck us—struck us 
bad. 

No matter what ther rage may be, 

My fo’ks gits on ter ev’ry fad. 


The business man that has no time to be 
a family man, won’t be a success as either. 


A man may be a chronic kicker, but as 
a rule he wont kick the bucket only as a 
last resort. 


The true success of life, is not in doing 
great things, but in doing little things in a 
great way. 


All They Ask. 

What is your part is all you need 
To know of Nature’s wondrous creed. 
The force that moves the mighty sea, 
Need not concern you or me. 

All that God and Nature ask 
Is for each to do his task. 











DRIFTWOOD 


59 


Baby Blue Eyes. 

Little blue eyes 
And lisping tongue, 
You’ve a look too wise . 

For one so young. 

I wonder what you think 
With look so demure, 
You don’t even wink, 

Yet reflect, I’m sure. 

I wish you’d reveal 
Your thoughts to me. 
Your lips unseal 
And tell ; maybe 
I could Unravel 

Your problems deep, 
Then you could travel 
To th’ Land of Sleep. 


To the eyes that see with the light of 
love, there is no defect in the object. 


Life simplified means surplus of supplies 
in all lines of production ; and just dis¬ 
tribution means abolition of want. 


Superior will-power exercised by an¬ 
other may command one’s conduct, but it 
can’t control the conscience. 


To correctly chronicle conduct, public or 
private, is by no means the mission of the 
newspaper. To tell the news merely, is 
secondary to the desire to impart useful 
instruction. In this sense, the press and 
the pulpit should go hand in hand. The 
preacher and the conscientious editor will 
co-operate to advance high intellectual and 
moral standards. A mercenary pulpit is 
not more to be condemned than a strictly 
commercial newspaper. 


If possessions were measured 
By absolute need, 

Little would be treasured 
In the grasp of greed. 


The oyster was the first to wear pearl 
ornaments. 


The man that treats everybody mean be¬ 
cause mad at somebody, treats himself the 
meanest of all. 


He Can’t Be Fooled. 

The cunning kid with forethought keen 
Bethinks him of his deeds, 

And witholds conduct that is mean, 

In view of Christmas needs. 

He gets up mornings when he’s called, 

And washes hands and face, 

And then he laughs when once he squalled, 
And tidy keeps his place. 

He tells no fibs and does not put 
Salt in his mama’s tea. 

In Sunday clothes he does not strut, 

And shows no vanity. 

He says “ thank you” and “if you please,” 
For favors asked or shown, 

And does not crawl upon his knees, 

Nor shout in boist’rous tone. 

But little kids, I want to say— 

Old Santa told me himself— 

You can’t by being good one day, 

Fool him ; the cunning elf. 


“Figures won’t lie.” Well, now, that 
depends on the sex of the figure, and 
whose it is. 


Whatever the other life may or may not 
be, I think we can safely postulate that the 
grave covers many heart aches. 


As the scratch of a diamond on a piece 
of glass causes it to break straight and 
smooth, so, often, the touch of the soul 
with the keen diamond point of sorrow, 
smoothes the ragged edge of character. 


A Noble Destiny. 

There are people enough to find fault with 
their fate, 

And the time in which they were born, 
But I can frankly and truthfully state 

That they blow hot air through a horn. 

This age is the best the world ever knew, 

And if in their efforts they fail, 

It’s simply because they’re in the wrong 
pew, 

And travel by stage instead of by rail. 

If they would just hustle for all they are 
worth, 

And cease their knocking at all they see, 
They’d know that a purpose awaited their 
birth, 

And a broader and nobler destiny. 















60 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Boys Of Long Ago. 

Where are the boys I used to know 
Way back in early years? 

Some are sleeping where daisies grow; 
Some where arctic snow appears. 

Some have reached ambition’s goal 
And won the meed of fame. 

And some, whom cruel fates control, 

Have missed an honored name. 

But all come trooping back again 
Before my tear-dimmed eyes. 

I see them as I saw them then, 

Despite of time’s disguise. 

On college campus they appear ; 

In class-room or at play. 

The schoolmates memory holds dear, 

I see them all to-day. 

There’s wayward Will and jolly Jack 
And “Hank,” we thought sedate, 

And little Pete, we called “Hunchback”— 
In class-room they were great. 

In retrospect they all come back 
And stand there in a row. 

Jim and Joe and Josh and Jack— 

The boys of long ago. 


The Light Of Truth. 

I mind me not what others do, 

Unless they seek the right. 

If Truth my heart shall fondly woo, 
I’ll follow with my might, 

For ’tis a guide ; a lamp that’s bright 
Along life’s crooked way. 

It floods my path with cheering light; 

I can’t go wide astray. 


A vain but illiterate woman trying to put 
on airs of speech is the most disgusting 
thing in art. 


Science Is Cold. 

Reason is unsympathetic. Science is 
cold. We want something tender ; some¬ 
thing that touches the heart and kindles 
kindly feelings. That is the kind of relig¬ 
ion the w r orld needs, no matter what name 
you give it. A religion that touches both 
sides of human nature and rounds it out in 
conformity with laws of harmonious growth. 
Mere belief of faith don’t do this. It is 
only through fidelity to unchangable laws 
that good results are obtained. 


A Moving Picture. 

She didn’t wear the hobble skirt 
Or any other foolish fad. 

That is, I mean, wear it in sight, 
Whatever out of sight she had. 

There was no lack of graceful gait; 

Her movements were the soul of grace. 

She was a beauty, I admit, 

In everything except her face. 

Women ’tis said have wondrous art 
In putting always best side out, 

And what she may have worn concealed, 
I will not speculate about. 

I know she has rats in her hair, 

But style of corset I can’t say. 

It may have been of antique make, 

Or a creation of to-day. 

The realm of mystery is wide, 

And not confined to Nature’s round. 

The very strangest things of all, 

In Fashion’s kingdom may be found. 

I never speculate, therefore, 

But rather think it is a shame, 

For if I knew all women wear 
I wouldn’t dare to write the name. 

I’ll end this jestful jingle, then, 

By saying they should have their way. 

I’!l eat and drink and sleep the same, 

So long as I don’t have to pay. 

All well-dressed women I confess 
Are moving pictures every one. 

I’m glad like peacocks they can dress, 
Nor do I question how ’tis done. 


Do unto others as they would do to you 
if they had a chance. 


The hand that rocks the cradle is a foot, 
while the hand is busy with a needle mend¬ 
ing the little garments for the other ten 
kids that are old enough to amuse them¬ 
selves scrapping and teasing for “bread 
and butter with sugar on it.” Yet men 
think a woman’s life is an everyday picnic. 


You can carry a little in a large pail, but 
you can’t carry a good deal in a small ves¬ 
sel. Just so with people ; you can’t crowd 
more into them than the capacity of their 
sculls. If a young man’s head is full of 
football, what’s the use of sending him to 
college to study Greek roots? All he cares 
is to root the ground. 












DRIFTWOOD 


61 


Should We See The Proof? 

It would seem to be a cruel fate when a 
person of delicate health fights back di¬ 
sease and death through a long, dreary, re¬ 
morseless winter, to die just when the earth 
is awakening to newness of life—to the 
bloom of flowers and the music of birds 
and brooks, in the sweet spring-time. So 
it would be, were it not for the fact that 
there is an inconceivably brighter life the 
other side of the grave. Who can blame 
one for keeping ever active that hope and 
seeking to intensify it as a demonstrable 
fact! There is little present comfort in 
an immortality that is based on imagination 
or concrete theories. Truly, a principle 
so important in the destiny of man must be 
capable, at least, of partial demonstration. 
Don’t blame one who looks for the proof. 
God does not mystify or utterly conceal 
His providences as they relate to the high¬ 
est expression of His creations or emana¬ 
tions, viz: the human soul. 


Day By Day. 

We build our heaven day by day, 

With thoughts and deeds sublime. 

Its jasper walls are reared to stay, 
Though on the shores of Time. 

Heaven is condition, as we know ; 

Not place far out of sight, 

And if we reach it we must grow 
By doing what is right. 

We cannot grow on narrow creeds, 

Nor thrive on faith alone. 

Love and Truth are what it needs 
To form the corner stone. 

Then there’s a heaven, broad and bright, 
In every human breast, 

Whose shining domes, ne’er out of sight, 
Promise eternal rest. 


If voting machines lie, they have an ex¬ 
cuse in the example of election boards, be¬ 
fore they came into use. 


The mind is a field to be cultivated. If 
it be not sown with good thoughts noxious 
weeds spring up and in the autumn of life 
the harvest to be reaped is disappointment 
and despair. 


Where Is Heaven? 

Heaven is where the heart is, 

If it be near or far. 

If it be glowing hearthstone, 

Or on a distant star. 

Of what is heaven builded? 

’Tis not of brick or stone, 

But built of kindly feelings 
That in the heart are shown. 

Heaven is where duty calls, 

In high or humble sphere. 

If in the heart love abide, 

We’ll find our heaven here. 

Heaven is condition ; not a place 
Beyond the ken of eye. 

We may make it if we will 
On earth or in the sky. 

Where is Heaven ? Of what avail 
The problem to debate? 

We will find it everywhere, 

If fitted for its state. 


There is square measure and cubic 
measure, but the best measure of a man is 
square dealing. 


“ Have you noticed, ” remarked Mrs. 
Applebee at the church social, “how Dea¬ 
con Slicer has spruced up, and how young 
he acts since his wife died ?” 

“ Yes,” responded Mrs. Crabapple, “ and 
there’s Widow Hoodwink, she’s gone to 
wearing face powder again. Nothing re¬ 
juvenates some people like the loss of a 
companion.” 


I’m Thankful. 

I’m thankful for flowers 
That bloom in the glade, 

But not for the snow flakes 
The Frost King has made. 

But maybe ’tis to test 
My trust in the One 

Who does what is best, 
Whatever is done. 

Then will I give thanks 
For sunshine or rain, 

Nor question the pranks 
Winter plays on the plain. 

Thanksgiving ! Thanksgiving ! 
Whatever may come. 

I’m thankful if living 

Right, gladdens my home. 










62 


DRIFTWOOD 


Why Should It. 

Why should life be such an incompre¬ 
hensible struggle ; so barren of happiness? 
Surely good Mother Nature never offers a 
barren breast to her children. Every de¬ 
mand has its full supply in her kingdom of 
kindness. Every taste appealed to; every 
sense addressed, every legitimate appetite 
provided for. Whence then come our 
troubles? Can we justly look for the cause 
outside of ourselves? All we have to do is 
to properly appropriate, to duly assimilate 
her blessings ; and to be happy, we need 
only to rightly appreciate our privileges. 
If the customs of society and the laws of 
man were in harmony with the provisions 
of Nature, there would be no wars, no 
labor strikes, no divorce decrees, no sui¬ 
cides and no domestic quarrels. There 
would be no prisons, no brothels, no starv¬ 
ing widows and no hungry orphans. I look 
out upon Nature ; I see the plains to pro¬ 
duce the grains, the hills for the feeding 
of flocks, the forests and coal deposits for 
fuel, the mountains to temper the winds 
and divert the tempest, the skies to distil 
the dews, the rivers, the lakes and the 
oceans with their inexhaustable food sup¬ 
ply of fishes, and to freight the air with 
rain clouds, and I say, truly, no one need 
suffer from hunger or cold. For every 
physical demand provision has been made. 

But I have esthetic tastes. I do not need 
to visit picture galleries or temples of art. 
I have social needs. Nature responds and 
fixes the limit of indulgence. All we need 
to do is to respect her provisions in govern¬ 
ments, in social organizations and in the 
institution of the family, and we would 
have ideal conditions. In the family—the 
holiest relationship in life, next to the ties 
that bind the race to God—inharmony is 
but a needless, a vulgar, a selfish and wil¬ 
ful violation of principles as immutable as 
the Infinite. The first fundamental prin¬ 
ciple to be recognized is that of Equality. 
The second essential, is a recognition of 
the fact that all interests are mutual and 
all natural privileges reciprocal. The gov¬ 
ernment or the family that recognizes these 
natural rights, will have peace and pros¬ 
perity. Revolution doe9 not threaten the 


government no divorce proceedings distract 
the family. I claim the true husband will 
not enjoy any privilege or pleasure he 
would not share with his wife, he will take 
no liberties he would not accord to her, he 
will think her his equal, he will consult 
her wishes and refer to her judgement if 
she be worthy of confidence and compe- 
tent to counsel. The man that is not wil¬ 
ling to observe these rules, no woman ought 
to live or can live with in peace, Divorce 
is right when a man is too mean, too fault¬ 
finding, too selfish, too vulgar for a woman 
to live with without betraying all the deli¬ 
cate sensibilities of her nature and doing 
violence to her finer feelings. The rela¬ 
tionship of the sexes is as firmly fixed as 
the motion of the planets, and when men 
and women apprehend and observe the law 
of relationship, there will be no need of 
discussing the ethics or the wisdom of di¬ 
vorce, either from the standpoint of human 
edict or divine command. 

No, life is not a struggle, not barren of 
happiness unless we make it so by antago¬ 
nizing natural principles and outraging 
natural rights. 

Our joy is in our own keeping, 

Our sorrow we create. 

Nature provides not for weeping—* 

She knows no cruel fate. 


Forbidden Fruit. 

Her Easter hat is “sweet” I know, 

But sweeter far the face below. 

I wonder if ’twould be amiss 
Beneath that hat to place a kiss, 

I hardly think I dare to try, 

For there is danger in her eye. 

The roses blushing in her cheek 
Are flowers that I dare not seek, 

The sunshine playing in her hair 
But serves to make her face more fair. 
While the nectar of her cherry lips 
Only selfish Cupid sips. 

So I dismiss the thought of bliss 
That might arise from stolen kiss, 

And something whispers: “it may be that 
She owes the milliner for that hat.” 


People who work themselves into a fever 
of passion always suffer from chills of re¬ 
morse, after the fever subsides. 










DRIFTWOOD 


63 


Over The Backyard Fence. 

Say, Mrs. O’Flaherty, 

Phat do you think, 

My Moike he has sworn 

He will take no more drink, 
But will save up his money 
An’ buy us some land, 

An’ live in a sthyle 

Thit is plisant an’ grand. 

He’ll dress me, he says, 

As foine as a queen, 

An’ we’ll ride in shays 
Nathur rusty or mean. 

He’ll wear a silk hat, 

An’ foine shiny shoes— 

Now, Mrs. O’Flaherty, 

Don’t ye call thit good news ? 

Faith, Mrs. McCarthy, 

It’s no news at all, 

I hear thit same thing, 

From spring until fall. 

Our husbands swear off 
Afther ivery good drunk, 
Thin they don’t quit at all, 

For they hivn’t ther spunk. 

Men’s plidges are vain, 

An’ always I find 
That land, shays an’ clothes 
Is all in ther mind. 

They’ll drink intil dead, 

Though plidges they take, 
Thin Patrick an’ Moike 
Will git up to ther wake. 


Life is 5 per cent fact and 95 per cent 
sham. 


Girls that are handsome to-day, will 
quarrel with their mirrors a few years 
hence. Beauty is the dew of a June morn¬ 
ing that the sun exhales in an hour. 


There is no feeling more fatal to a man 
than that he is alone in the world, with no 
one to care for but himself. It robs him 
of the sweetest sweets of life. 


There is no article of furniture dearer 
in the home than a cradle, and over which 
the mother-heart broods with greater solic¬ 
itude, or with deeper sorrow when empty. 

The empty cradle is the link 
In love’s frail, broken chain, 

To which the heart forever clings, 

But clings alas ! in vain. 


“ Uncle Ben." 

He sat beside the old store door, 

Upon a box worn smooth and white. 
There was he when they opened store, 
And there when they closed at night. 
He spat tobacco juice about, 

And to all who passed, erred out: J 
“ Why, I declare ! Howdy do? ” 

He laid the implements of toil, 

Down, years and years ago, . , 

But by the odor of the soil 

That clung to him, all might know 
That he a farmer had been born, 

And got his living by raising corn, 

And smiled at his “Howdy do?” 

They kept the box there year by year, 
In summer, for “ Uncle Ben, ” 

And every one had words of cheer, 

As they answered back again: , 

“Well, Uncle, how are things with you, 
And how is good old Aunty Sue?” 

But all he said was, “Howdy do?” 

One morning when the sun was bright. 

At an early hour of day, 

He sat there in the bright sunlight 
That shone on his locks of gray. 

His head was drooping on his breast— 
Poor “ Uncle Ben” had gone to rest 
He did not say “ Howdy do?” 

Yet people sometimes say, to-day, 

They see him sitting by the door, 
And fancy that they hear him say 
Those old familiar words once more 
Some declare they see his ghost, 

Sitting by the old door post, 

And hear it say, “ Howdy do? ” 


There is only one place in the world 
where there is perpetual peace and per¬ 
fect harmony, and that is in a burying 
ground. 


’Twill All Be Right. 

She —We all have trouble, but then, but 
then, 

It will be all right, but when, but 
when ? 

Oh, when there are no men, no men, 
The sky will be bright, again, again. 

He _We all have sorrow and strife and 

woe, 

In summer’s heat or in winter’s 
snow, 

But ’twill be all right full well I 
know 

When under the daisies the women 

go- 













64 


DRIFTWOOD 


One Can Never Tell. 

Gladys inspects with utmost care 
Her stocking from top to toe, 

To see if holes are anywhere 

Through which diamonds could go. 
She expects Santa Claus will bring 
A present of a diamond ring. 

Pleasant is expectation, true, 

And innocent as well. 

’Tis right to take a roseate view 
For we can never tell 
What may transpire on Christmas eve 
To make one glad or make one grieve. 

I trust that Gladys will receive 
Full measure of desire. 

And everybody will believe 
Them genuine, and admire 
The sparkle of encircling band 
That ornaments her shapely hand 


The path of pleasure often leads through 
the gulf of despair. 


It is unquestionably a weakness to con¬ 
demn a thing because you don’t understand 
it, or because out of harmony with your 
line of thinking. 


When a man pets every dog he sees on 
the street, it is pretty good evidence that 
he quarrels with his family. 


Sorrow is not an essential ingredient of 
human life. There is a philosophical ex¬ 
planation for every affliction, and if we 
educate ourselves to seek the cause, we 
will find that what seem to be troubles can 
be made to harmonize with the divine 
economy. 


This may be a progressive age, and yet, 
social demarkations were never more man¬ 
ifest. Look back, even to Noah’s time ; 
social distinctions were not so conspicuous. 
Everybody was “in the swim.” Possibly 
another flood—a moral deluge—will come 
to equalize humanity. Nor will a chosen 
few escape by going up in airships. A 
steerage passage in the Ark of Equality 
will be better than an aviator, then. Cap¬ 
tain Commongood will command the expe¬ 
dition. 


The Village Sage. 

The barber is the village sage. 

He knows whatever comes to pass. 

He supplements the printed page, 

By looking in his looking glass. 

He knows who wed and who elope, 

And all about affairs of sport; 

The victims of the vilest dope, 

And who in gambling dens resort. 

He’s not a gossip, yet he will 
Oil up the hinges of his tongue 
And tell who owe a big bar bill ; 

He knows the latest joke that’s sprung. 

No use to take the papers when 
This sage you can depend upon. 

He’s versed in women lore, and then 
He knows more than the lexicon. 


“ The highest flights often make the 
lowest lights” warbled a wag when an air¬ 
ship landed in a goose pond. 


I think no one does wrong without know r - 
ing it. There is a little monitor within 
that keeps tabs on conduct and never fails 
to give a hint between right and wrong. 


The woman that rides astride on horse¬ 
back may not obliterate the line between 
feminine delicacy and masculine boldness, 
but there is something in man’s makeup 
that seems to prejudice him in favor of the 
old-fashioned way. 


There is such a thing as too great con¬ 
tentment. The man that is always satisfied 
with his lot, loses the stimulus of struggle 
and the zest of achievement and victory. 

The contented man is a clam 
Shut within his shell, 

That just comes out to get his “dram” 
Where it is kept to sell. 


When one thinks right down to a hair¬ 
line, he can’t avoid the reflection that the 
Lord couldn’t have understood human na¬ 
ture perfectly, or He would have known 
that curiosity alone would have prompted 
Eve to test the forbidden fruit. But then, 
it is presumed that people are not going to 
do very close thinking in considering the 
fundamental postulates of the Pentateuch. 



















DRIFTWOOD 


65 


Homes On The Land. 

How hopeless seems the fate of the man 
who depends on some public works for his 
chance in life, as viewed from the stand¬ 
point of the independent farmer? There 
are too many contingencies connected with 
his calling to render the outlook hopeful. 
A limited demand for product of mill or 
factory ; a desire on the part of the owners 
for increased profits on the output; the 
manipulating the market by witholding 
production, and in fact, a hundred differ¬ 
ent problems arise, so that the mechanic 
has no absolute certainty of being able to 
make a living. His job fails but his neces¬ 
sities keep up just the same. It is for this 
reason I say the millions who huddle in 
great centers of population will sooner or 
later have to seek homes on the land and 
gain a livelihood by tilling the soil. There 
is no other solution of the labor problem. 
Nature’s resources must be open to all. 
Life in the country to-day offers advantages 
that former generations did not have. Im¬ 
proved roads, rural mail delivery, telephone 
communication, church facilities and the 
consolidating of the district schools into 
the township Free Academy are some of 
the things that bring city privileges to the 
farmer’s door. Other advantages will mul¬ 
tiply as farm population increases. Farms 
will be reduced in acreage and the land 
be better cultivated, and the country high¬ 
way will be the city street extended with¬ 
out its pauper population. The ideal home 
will then be found in what to-day is called 
the country. I would say to everybody 
who owns land, if it be but a few acres, 
hold on to it. Though you may live in the 
city, it is the best property you can possess. 
And to the farmer I would say, curb your 
aspirations for city life if you have to de¬ 
pend on any kind of work for a livelihood. 
The city may do for the family that is inde¬ 
pendent, but not for the working man. 


The truest test of affection is trouble. 
You never know a friend until you have 
tried him in the crucible of ill report. If 
he stays with you through an unfortunate 
report affecting your honor, he is true gold. 


The Spirit Of The Age. 

He never swore, 

Nor meddled he, 

But kept as calm 
As he could be. 

But he said 
When all was done, 

That he’d look out 
For number one. 

His policy 
We must commend. 

For in this age, 

One’s his own friend. 

Remember this: 
Suspicion’s right. 

Don’t trust a man 
Out of your sight. 


In speaking of gas trusts, it is always 
proper to say the stock is inflated. 


Grandmothers have to be mothers to two 
generations. 


Keen Kid.—“ Pa, don’t D. D. after a 
man’s name mean doing deviltry?” 

Father. —“Not always, my boy.” 


Men who are angels abroad and demons 
at home, never get their just deserts till 
they get their positions as stokers in their 
eternal homes. 


Truth’s Champion. 

Truth’s champion may be put down, 

And gloating world may scoff and jeer. 
True souls are only warmed by frown; 
And smile will glorify the tear. 

Truth’s record has been writ in blood 
Of martyrs in the ages past, 

But she has waded through the flood 
And ever has been crowned at last. 

’Twill be so in the time to come. 

The crown ever outshines the cross. 
Though martyr’s lips per force be dumb, 
The world recovers from its loss. 

Lift up your head, Truth’s advocate, 

Nor fear the gibbet or the stake. 

Be bold as Christ your cause to state— 
’Tis noble blood shed for her sake. 

Fear not the skeptic’s hostile word, 

But give your thought bold utterance, 
For true as God it will be heard, 

Though it may have to wait its chance. 











66 


DRIFTWOOD 


Speak Thy Thought. 

’Tis not that I would fain deceive 
A single soul or lead astray 
Anyone who might believe 

And follow in some other way. 

I would not live another’s life; 

I would not think another’s thought. 

I only seek, amidst the strife, 

To do the things I know I ought. 

What I should do I do not name 
To be the standard of your life. 

The thoughts I think or I proclaim, 
Might involve you in ceaseless strife. 
And so I say weigh all things well, 

And follow where you see the light, 
And what you think don’t fear to tell, 

If conscience says that it is right. 

The hero is the man who dare 

Proclaim what he believes is right. 
E’en though the millions may declare 
His gospel false, a moral blight. 

The world has been led by the few 
In all the ages of the past 
Who dared to tell the truth they knew, 
Though into dungeons they were cast. 

Too many bow them down to creeds, 
And place opinions before truth. 

They weigh men’s doctrines, not their 
deeds, 

And glean not as did faithful Ruth. 
They’re looking to the fields unreaped, 
For sheaves of glory, not of grain, 
And he is best who shall have heaped 
The richest store of selfish gain. 


The man that has always worked for 
himself don’t know very much about the 
ways of the world until he goes out and 
tries to get a job working for somebody 
else. Although he may have borne the 
best reputation for integrity, morality and 
even piety, he must have a triple-plated 
voucher as to character. This character 
certificate must set forth whether his father 
was a pirate on the high seas, his mother 
talked about when a girl or any of his 
brothers Mormons, instead of mere liber¬ 
tines that waste their substance in riotous 
living. Another thing: he should not be so 
reckless as to let more than forty-five yeai's 
pass over his head. 


If church men crucified their greed, 

And paid respect to Nature’s creed, 
’Twould give Christ’s gospel greater speed. 


Many Sources. 

The wisdom that men seek and gain, 

Is found not all in books, 

But sought in Nature’s wide domain ; 

By ocean’s side or babbling brooks. 

’Tis trilled by birds from woody dell ; 

’Tis seen in gorgeous forest dyes, 

And in the flower’s honeyed cell, 

That by the wayside ope’ their eyes. 

And through these channels must we go. 

Would we true wisdom find, 

And if we would most fully show 
The treasures of the mind. 


I have little use for these lickspittle men 
who get down in the dust like a cur to be 
patted on the head by some one high in 
public position or way up in financial 
affairs. Let working men stand in the dig¬ 
nity of true manhood, independent as God 
made them to be, whether they be ditch 
diggers or coal heavers. The practice of 
idolizing our public officials is no part of 
patriotism and a habit unbecoming to free¬ 
men. Only virtue deserves homage. The 
parading of public men is only a part of 
the game of politics, and a contemptible 
part at that. There is no sincerity and no 
expression of real appreciation of worth 
or manifestation of genuine affection in it. 
It is toadyism, pure and simple. 


That Horrid Squeak. 

Soon the rattling old screen door 
Will be swinging to and fro, 

And men will swear as ne’er before, 

As home from the “lodge” they go. 
The utmost care will they take, 

When late returning home, you see, 
That darling wife they may not wake— 
But that squeak—oh, hully gee ! 


The smaller stream always runs towards 
the larger. So the spirit of man goes out 
toward the soul of the Infinite. 


They Surely Pay. 

People are on the move, 

Going somewhere every day, 
Which surely serves to prove 
That the railroads make it pay. 
And I am willing to declare 
That they would at half the fare. 











DRIFTWOOD 


67 


It Can’t Be Done. 

Go lift the mountains from their base, 
Pull the firmament from its place, 

Bail the sea with an orange spoon, 

Shout “rubber” to the man in the moon, 
But do not hope to ever still 
A woman’s tongue, or break her will. 
There is no power ’neath the sun 
That can do that—it can’t be done— 
For she’ll talk back and last word say, 
Though it be at the Judgment Day. 


The heart must be tuned to the key of 
the object of beauty, if we would enjoy 
them. The trill of the bird, the murmur 
of the brook, the sighing of the breeze and 
the riffle of the trees must touch a sympa¬ 
thetic cord in the soul, if our lives shall 
be a symphony. If we would enjoy Nature, 
we must be responsive to all her voices. 


’Tis So Easy. 

When we worry o’er shortcomings 
Of another, we will find 
That to things much more appalling 
In ourselves, we are blind. 

’Tis so easy to discover 

Faults, e’en angels do not scan, 
When we’re looking, in a brother, 
For a demon ; not a man. 


Many women are condemned for the 
faults of their husbands, and censured 
when they should be commended. Any 
woman that lives with a drunken and 
abusive husband, and does her part, and 
his too, to maintain a respectable life, 
merits heaven. 


In some places the cemetery owners and 
the public are quarreling over the price 
of lots, which suggests the quatrain: 

’Tis not all of life to live, 

Nor all of death to die,” 

But rather what one has to give 
For a place at last to lie. 


Good things come slow, but that would¬ 
n’t be so bad if we only knew they were 
coming. If they would telephone that they 
had started it would save much anxiety. 
We’d be willing to pay at this end of the 
line. 


House Cleaning. 

The saddest time of all the year, 

My wife let loose last week, 

And when I saw things on their ear, 

I simply took a sneak. 

I passed the house the other day, 

To note the progress made, 

And then I quickly skulked away— 

I’m happiest in the shade 

I’ll just let wife have her own way, 

(’Tis wrong to interfere,) 

Let her enjoy her pic-nic day, 

And I will take my cheer. 

Good meals I get at public house; 

In office, soundly sleep. 

So let her wear her old, blue blouse, 

I rather guess I’ll keep. 

I had a box come by express, 

Marked: “Glass—handle with care !” 

And, on the sly, I must confess 
I’m glad our house is bare. 


You would hardly think it, but lots of 
men carry their brains in a bottle. How- 
many doctors and lawyers and priests and 
preachers draw on their flasks for their in¬ 
spiration, in all great undertakings or on 
famous occasions, you or I will never know, 
I know this, however, that the lower class 
or middle class are not the only ones ad¬ 
dicted to drink. 


Eternity. 

A night is as a thousand years, 

A thousand years are but a night, 

To those who have no hopes, no fears, 
Asleep in the ground out of sight. 

Eternity is God’s life-time; 

It signifies the same to man, 

If it be told in deeds sublime, 

For ages, or in life’s brief span. 


Natural conditions and not national con¬ 
ceptions of policy, is the protection the 
people need. Throw open the markets of 
the world to the people of the w'orld, and 
there need be no w^ant unsatisfied. 


In great cities deals that involve millions 
of dollars are consummated with the facil¬ 
ity with which the title to a farm changes 
hands in the country. 
















68 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Wage Slave. 

I gaze on the high church steeple, 

And listen to the organ’s tone, 

And think of the millions of people 
Who struggle and suffer and moan. 

I hear the sleek, dapper preacher, 

As he utters his meaningless prayer, 
With no thought of the heart-broken 
creature 

Crushed under his burden of care. 

The men who reared the great temple, 
Or made the cathedral’s rich pane, 
The priest, and the proud would trample 
Down in the dust, with disdain. 

Yet this is a boasted “ New Nation” 
Where Freedom was cradled, they say. 
But money alone can give station, 

And men are in bondage to-day. 


The wise man judges 1 things by their 
effects ; the fool, by his neglects. 


You can’t judge a man by his exterior. 
He may look like an Egyptian mummy and 
yet be brighter than a Klondike vision in 
his mental make up. 


There is nothing better than music in 
the home to harmonize relationships and 
induce an interchange of the amenities of 
life. 


Love’s Triumph. 

’Tis not achievements great and grand, 
That do the greatest good, 

But little deeds of love that stand 
For truest brotherhood. 

The warrior with his plumes and spear ; 

Philosopher with scales; 

Can ne’er assuage afflction’s tear, 

Nor silence sorrow’s wails. 

We go outside of reason’s range, 

Oft times for life’s best things. 

The look of love that we exchange, 

The sweetest blessing brings. 

We need communion, heart with heart; 

Feeling of fellowship, 

More than tokens of wealth or art 
Are words of quivering lip. 

Then let us aim to do the deeds 
That satisfy the heart, 

Instead of wrangling over creeds 
That drive mankind apart. 


“Who Loves The Lord?" 

“Who loves the Lord? He loves Him best 
Who loves his fellow man. 

And who shall give the surest test 
Of helping all he can 
To lead him in the ways of right, 

And out of darkness into light. 

“Who loves the Lord?” ’Tis he alone 
Who does each day some deed, 

Whereby the right he helps enthrone 
And meets some urgent need. 

Though he possess not wealth nor fame 
But does his best in love’s sweet name. 

“Who loves the Lord?” ’Tis never he 
Who bows before his creeds, 

Rather than truth, and cannot see 
A human heart that bleeds. 

He loves the Lord, who loves the good, 
And who shall work for brotherhood. 


Entertain whatever opinion we may 
about this being a progressive age, there 
is no disputing the fact that parents mind 
their children real well. 


Something They Buy. 

The themes we find that men discuss 
When carried to their rightful end, 

But serve to get them in a fuss, 

Till they despise what they defend. 

Religion, business and politics, 

Are only schemes they have in hand, 

While gold and greed and grace they mix 
In compounds none can understand. 

And yet we say that men are great, 

And their achievements, laud them high. 

But in the church or things of state, 

Their fame is something that they buy. 


When people get hopping mad they 
generally jump from the frying-pan into 
the fire. 


So Do You. 

When I reflect how long I’ve lived, 

And yet how swift the years have flown, 
The meager harvest I have reaped 
From all the seed that I have sown, 

I wonder why this life was shown. 

I feel to mourn mistakes I’ve made, 

And hope that future has in store 
A richer harvest for the soul 

Than I have ever known before— 

That with the grave all is not known. 















DRIFTWOOD 


69 


Words Of Praise. 

Have you anything to say, 

Any word of praise to give, 

Say it while you may to-day; 

Say it while the parties live. 

Eulogies of people dead, 

Reach not the ears forever sealed, 

Like winds that blow above your head, 

’Tis idle sound that is revealed. 

Scan close the record of the life 

Whose doings are revealed each day, 
And if some good, amidst the strife, 

You shall detect, praise it, I pray. 

Tears are transient as summer dew, 

And flowers fade upon the bier, 

But words of praise will last life through, 
And prized are they if but sincere. 


Money goes a great ways, but in the last 
analysis brains go much farther. 


Poverty is no disgrace, but it knocks the 
spirit out of a man. 


It is better to be happy than rich, but 
how can one be, since everybody thinks 
riches make happiness. 


If man’s usefulness ends at forty, then is 
life a failure, for the majority of men don’t 
get rightly started before that time. It is 
a well known fact that nearly all business 
men fail at least once before they succeed. 


Farms And Farmers. 

There is no question but that people may 
learn useful lessons from dumb animals 
and be improved in many ways by observ¬ 
ing their habits and studying their disposi¬ 
tions. Animals even have graces that put 
to blush the vaunted claims of people, in 
humility, patience, meekness and faithful 
affection. I watched a drove of milch 
cows being stancheled for the milking hour. 
There were fifty head of them, and I was 
interested in seeing them so orderly file 
through the stable door and each one take 
her own place in the long and double row 
of stanchels. They made no mistake in 
place ; no protest by bunt or hook or kick. 
Quietly they stood and chewed their cuds 


till the milking was over, then they orderly 
walked down the long, dusty lane to the 
parched pasture again. I wondered if a 
gang of half a hundred men would have 
gone as orderly and quietly to the same 
number of beds in a room a hundred feet 
long and made no mistake in the location 
of their respective bunks, or if they would 
have gone to the supper table and found as 
little fault with what awaited them. No, 
we needn’t despise the brute creation, but 
study it that its example in many things 
may improve our characters and correct 
many of our habits. I do think the avoca¬ 
tion of the husbandman brings him so near 
to Nature, in so many ways, that it must be 
an incentive to high ideals of life, and I 
look for a better expression of character 
in the intelligent farmer than is to be seen 
in men who are influenced by the conflict¬ 
ing interests of crowded and selfish cities. 
As a rule we find a more honorable, up - 
right and moral population, in proportion 
to numbers, than amidst city surroundings. 
They may not be as intelligent, measured 
by standards of social sham ; they may not 
be well up in intrigue, versed in all the 
ways of commercial craft, but they are 
sounder in those virtues and customs and 
habits of domestic life that exalt character 
and preserve a peaceful and true home. 
Nor will it be many years till the farmer 
shall come into his own and be held in an 
esteem comensurate with his importance as 
a factor in the world’s progress. The 
strenuous struggle for mere existence makes 
the farmer envied and country life coveted 
by a large portion of urban population 
whose chances are becoming more precar¬ 
ious every year. 


“Art is long and time is fleeting,” 
But these words are true as gold. 
When a lady you are greeting, 
Never hint she’s growing old. 


Two pennyless hungry Irishmen were 
passing a restaurant. As they glanced 
through the window, Pat exclaimed; “Be- 
gorry Mike, let’s go in and chew a few 
toothpicks; mebby we kin fool our stum- 
micks ter think they had a full meal, sure.” 












70 DRIFTWOOD 


Look For The Light. 

No one can live a true life who believes 
there is only one way to secure eternal life, 
and that is his way. If he be true to con¬ 
viction, he has got to antagonize all differ¬ 
ing opinions that promise future peace and 
happiness. That makes him uncharitable, 
unsympathetic and disagreeably self-opin¬ 
ionated. It is little use for any religious 
enthusiast to undertake to dictate what is 
duty or right to think or say or do. Con¬ 
science is the safest and surest arbiter to 
settle the question of right or wrong for 
the individual. 

Right or wrong depends upon 
Not what others say or do. 

Truth to you may be to me 
A statement that’s untrue. 

The time is past when thoughtful people 
think that any system is infallible, or that 
it is adapted to the needs of all people in 
all ages. 

Look for the light and it will dawn 
Upon your vision bright and clear. 

Be true to self and do not fawn, 

Free thought and speech you need 
not fear. 

’Tis lack of will that makes men weak 
And timid, grov’ling in the dust. 

They harbor thoughts they dare not 
speak, 

And let their souls corrode with rust. 

I like the spirit that is brave 

Enough to boldly speak his thought, 

And not to bow down, like a slave, 

To superstitions others taught. 


It isn’t what a man earns, but what he is 
able to save, that settles the question of 
prosperity. He may have work but if the 
absolute necessities of living are greater 
than his income, it would take a greater 
logician than the world has yet evoluted to 
prove that there is prosperity for him. 
Meat 50c a pound, and muscle 15c an hour, 
leaves too wide a margin between one man 
to earn and fifteen months to eat. Pros¬ 
perity ! the political humbug, and boome¬ 
rang of a lost hope. 


In these days of prosperity (?), want 
seems to be the most abundant thing notice¬ 
able. 


The Tramp’s End. 

If all the world go right or wrong 
I’m sure I will not worry. 

I’ve done my little dance and song, 
And lived life in a flurry. 

But I am growing more sedate, 

And do not give a nickle 

Whether I am good and great, 

Or whether in the pickle. 

I’m ready now to jump accounts 
With this gray greedy world. 

And I am sure that it amounts 
To little where I’m hurled. 

I’ll take whatever comes along, 

The same as I have here, 

And do my ready dance and song 
And drink my little cheer. 

I don’t believe the Lord will be 
Too hard on a poor tramp, 

And I am sure he’ll forgive me 
For blowing out my lamp. 


A ’mark’bel case ob absen’min’ness de¬ 
veloped las’ Sunday. Deacon Flint went 
to church wid his wais’coat on wrong side 
out, an’ neber knowed it till he went ter 
git his spectacles outen de pocket. De 
carcumstance war due ter de fac’ dat de 
deacon dressed hisself dat mawnin’ ; his 
wife bein’ indisposed. Few married men 
are competent to de task ob puttin’ on dar 
clothes, ’speshally when it comes ter fixin’ 
de collah an’ necktie. De mistake war not 
so bad only fo’ de fac’ dat some vishus 
pusson, passin’ de meetin’ house an’ seein’ 
de deacon in his shirt sleebs in de westi- 
bule, started de report dat Deacon Flint 
an’ de sexton war habin’ a scrap durin’ 
meetin’ time. In dat way a ter’bul scandal 
war spre’d ’brawd in de community. An’, 
while I t’inks ’bout it, I will state dat near¬ 
ly all scandals start fro’ some little mistake 
bein’ magnified by de ’magination. 


A Better Theme. 

Sing no more of the full dinner pail, 
There’s a theme that is greater than 
that. 

The empty coal scuttle tells the tale, 
With no natural gas in the flat. 


Many a head wears a hat fuller than 
itself. 














DRIFTWOOD 


Inconsistent. 

The arts of peace are largely employed 
in promoting the arts of war. Yet we 
boast of our superior civilization. Our 
superiority consists measurably in our im¬ 
proved implements of death and our meth¬ 
ods of warfare.— 

We talk of universal peace 

And emphasize true brotherhood, 

And then our armament increase 

To drench the world in human blood. 

Since time began, there have not been 
Relations that were more unkind. 

The brotherhood, to-day, that’s seen, 
Surpassed by heathen horde, we find. 

A civilization that can boast 

Of mammoth guns and navies grand 

Will never elevate the host, 

For blood but fertilizes land. 

Some women’s world is a millinery store; 
others, a flower garden. But who can 
blame them from admiring pretty things? 
That’s the reaion I suppose they take so 
naturally to men. 


Demon and angel ; light and darkness, 
Is the make-up of mankind. 

If we pity human weakness, 

With humility and meekness, 

Some good in all, we will find. 


“ An honest man is the noblest work of 
God,” but it must be admitted God has not 
had very much to do in that line of work 
late years. His workshop is not behind 
with its orders. 


No man is on safe ground till he can 
stand the test of temptation. 


Neglected opportunity is the route men 
take to poverty. 

We may not be able to make opportuni¬ 
ties, but we may be able to master them. 

Friends you can’t trust are your worst 
enemies. 

Adam was the best posted man in history 
the world ever produced. 


71 


Couldn’t Keep It. 

A cluster of curls 
On her rosy cheek! 

So pretty are they 
They seem to speak. 

And rogish twinkle, 

In her eye, 

Said: ‘'You may kiss me— 
Bye and bye.” 

“ Bye and bye, ” 

And must I wait? 

Then, said I, 

’Twill be too late. 

She gave her head 
Suggestive fling—- 

I had to kiss 

The saucy thing. 


Don’t Crawl. 

I hope I may never have that abject feel¬ 
ing that would prompt me to take off my 
hat to any man from a sense of his superi¬ 
ority by virtue of his holding an office in 
the gift of the people or contingent upon 
the frauds of politics. If a man has su¬ 
perior talents and uses them for the ad¬ 
vancement of his race in those qualities 
that exalt and dignify human nature, I 
would show him all respect or do him hom¬ 
age. But I have no sense of service to a 
politician or an office-holder, simply as 
such, whether he be Governor or Presi¬ 
dent. I believe the best type of citizen¬ 
ship is developed by inculcating the high¬ 
est sense of equality under the provisions 
of nature and by the genius of human 
constitutions and statutes. 


The greatest courage is the highest 
chivalry. A brave man never said a mean 
thing to a woman, under any circumstan¬ 
ces. 


Pouting lips are never tempting; no one 
ever wants to kiss them. 


Two-thirds of life’s troubles are imagin¬ 
ary, and two-thirds of the other third are 
unnecessary. 


Lots of men let their baser selves run 
away with their better selves till they lose 
the bearings of reason entirely. 

















72 


DRIFTWOOD 


They Are For All. 

It does the heart good to see Nature re¬ 
cuperating herself to meet the demands of 
man upon her. How promptly and how 
faithfully every season does she respond to 
his needs, with her vegetation, her flowers 
and her fruits ! And, blessed thought, she 
offers them to all. Yet, there are men des¬ 
picable enough to think they are for their 
especial favor or profit. The individual 
has no appreciation of Nature nor love for 
Nature’s God, that would despoil her, by 
power of appropriation or by purchase of 
more than his legitimate share of her re¬ 
sources or her productions, if thereby oth¬ 
ers are made to suffer. The oat stalk or 
the spear of wheat that yields its grain to 
the harvest, does so under an impulse of 
vegetable life and growth that is in force 
for the good of all animate creatures. 
While the husbandman has a right to a just 
recompense for his labor, that right must 
be exercised under certain limitations. 
There are certain natural principles that 
pertain to the possession of soil that must 
be observed. All men need to do to make 
earth a fit abiding place for humanity, is 
to observe the laws of Nature in human 
statutes. The fundamental law of Nature, 
is that all her resources belong to all, indis¬ 
criminately. They may be distributed for 
social advantage, but only on principles of 
absolute equality and equity, and in strict 
conformity to natural provisions. Every 
man may have the use of land to the ex¬ 
tent of his needs and his ability to culti¬ 
vate, but no man or company shall own or 
control a million of acres for purposes of 
speculation, nor manipulate the products 
of the land to the prejudice of the masses, 
through unjust and inhuman commercial 
laws, secured through debauched legisla¬ 
tures. It may be an unpleasant fact to 
contemplate to unscrupulous speculators 
and bribed politicians, but the time is com¬ 
ing and that very soon, when a readjust¬ 
ment will take place—when land will be 
apportioned to the needs of all, and when 
great cities shall pour forth their hapless 
millions upon the uncultivated land of the 
country, and that too, despite the protest of 
speculator or syndicate. City environ¬ 


ments do not and cannot promote the com¬ 
fort, the contentment and the happiness of 
the masses. It needs not the philosophical 
mind to see that proper adjustment of Na¬ 
ture’s resources to human wants is the only 
condition that can secure social harmony. 
When this principle shall be foremost in 
legislation, then will labor strikes cease, 
riots, rapine and murder vanish from 
among men, and wars disgrace the annals 
of nations no more forever. 

Behold the hills and verdant plains 
Where vegetation springs, 

The prophecy of fruits and grains 
The autumn harvest brings. 

Then turn from vision bright and fair, 
To city squalor pen 

Where reigns the demon of despair 
Caused by the greed of men. 

Can you explain by any art 
Save sophistry, the cause ? 

The fact remains that men depart 
From Nature’s perfect laws. 

The man who owns his little farm, 

Has more than title grand. 

No “boss” can rule him to his harm, 

If he shall till his land. 


People are more anxious to make a good 
impression upon others, than to secure 
their own comfort and happiness. 


One-half the toggery a woman wears in 
her hair, upon her head and about her 
bust, would drive a man insane before he 
got it all on. 


There are some diseases the doctors 
claim the only remedy for is rest. There 
is at least one thing to recommend it with 
most people; it is easy to take. 


Alas, How Changed. 

Time was when men felt proud 
To think he was a man, 

But woman has reversed 
Good Mother Nature’s plan. 

The doctor is a woman, 

The lawyer is a dame, 

The judge she wears a bonnet, 
And Susan is her name. 











DRIFTWOOD 


73 


The Auto Scorcher. 

There was a “bubbler” of high degree, 

For her dad was a millionaire; 

And when she was out for a ’mobile spree, 
Not a fig for a life did she care. 

The mayor, she had him under her thumb, 
The police were as blind as a bat; 

They got their price for being dumb, 

And just let it go at that. 

But plethoric purse, promise and smile, 
Nor all of her father’s boodle 
Could not the thoughts of the public beguile 
When she killed a little pet poodle. 

Old cripples, she had killed them by the 
score, 

And her father would settle the bill; 

But she’d never killed a dog before, 

And people couldn’t swallow the pill. 


A bird on the hat is worth two in the 
cage. 


“Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be 
wise.” That’s why it isn’t best to use a 
microscope before drinking city water. 


There is one thing universally sought, 
that can’t be bought with money ; that is 
happiness. 


Any old coot, though he have a hump on 
his back as big as a camel, and a rum blos¬ 
som on his nose larger than a goose egg, 
can contract an eligible marriage if he have 
money. There are plenty of women and 
girls always ready to marry a bank-book. 


It may be regarded as a truism, that 
what is best for the individual, is best for 
the community. If human legislation 
would recognize the law of relationship 
and the principle of natural right, we 
would have an ideal government. 


The most sensitive part of a mule is his 
ears. They are the part of his anatomy 
that receives the lash of the driver, when 
he wants to spur his speed. Many people, 
too, are peculiar in this respect. Whisper 
a scandal and how their ears will quicken 
the speed of their feet to spread it. 


Jinglejump. 

Jinglejump was a little kid 

That didn’t care much what he did. 

If right or wrong he chanced to be, 

’Twas all the same to him, you see. 

There are other Jinglejumps, I know; 

I see them everywhere I go. 

At home or if abroad, the same, 

Their conduct justifies the name. 

In school they care not to advance, 

They think that learning comes by chance 

And when they grow up to be men, 
They’ll want to live their lives again. 

’Tis then they learn that fickle chance 
Ne’er helps a lazy kid advance. 

They learn the lesson then, too well, 

That they can neither read nor spell. 

And “rithmetic,” O pitying stars! 

Cold Fate put up her cruel bars. 

They’re shunned, wherever they may go, 
For what they didn’t learn to know— 
Goodby, Jingle, your jig is up, 

For you, life holds an empty cup. 


A good man is good first of all to his 
family, then to his friends and then to 
dumb animals. 


Death has all times and places for his 
own, but to the limited vision of mortals, 
no place seems convenient and no time 
appropriate. 

If people thought more of comfort than 
of show, many fancied pleasures they’d 
forego, and many things would be denied, 
that were suggested by base pride, while 
the wicked Vandal, that’s called Style, 
wouldn’t pull down their idols all the while. 


What the reading public needs in this 
practical age is burning trouths that can be 
expressed in a sentence. Epigramatic 
speeches and sentence sermons reach the 
ear and command attention. Mere rheto¬ 
ric and verbose utterance have reached 
their limit in printed page, in the pulpit or 
on the platform. Allopathic doses of gram¬ 
mar nauseate in essay or oration. Imagine 
a public speaker to-day consuming an hour 
in getting to his subject and then leaving 
his hearers in doubt as to whether it was 
a play on words or a discourse on tubercu¬ 
losis. 


















74 


DRIFTWOOD 


To Nature’s God I Pray. 

O God, God of Nature, I pray 
Lead me the way I ought to go; 

Teach me the things I ought to say; 
Show me the deeds I ought to do. 

I recognize thy right to reign 

Through just provisions of thy law. 

I know my striving is in vain, 

Lest from thy resources I draw. 

How weak am I, yet boast my strength, 
And vaunt the prowess of my deeds, 

And yet I know I’ll fail, at length, 

Unless I feel and own my needs. 

Thy laws I cannot, if I would, 

Evade, nor suffer for my sin. 

By living closely as I should 

To their provisions, I shall win— 

Win peace of mind and heart and soul ; 
Win happiness and sweet content. 

We are all parts of One Great Whole, 
And all on peaceful missions sent. 

Distracting theories of men 

May lead our footsteps wide astray. 

If we have peace, ’tis only when 
We follow thy appointed way. 


The person who undertakes to carry 
everybody’s burdens is unduly and unjustly 
handicapped in the race of life. Sympa¬ 
thy is beautiful and heaven-born, but, like 
everything else, it must be subject to limi¬ 
tations. 


I believe it possible to get along with the 
meanest people, but in order to do so one 
must be master of himself. 


“Everything comes to them who wait,” 
but it comes quicker if wish is supple¬ 
mented by effort. 


What a difference age makes in the pro¬ 
files of people! But like fruit they are 
best when ripe. 


The pinions of angels flutter in tune 
with the rocking of a cradle by the hearth¬ 
stone. 


We only need to go four feet under 
ground to level all men who are above 
ground. 


Youth And Age. 

Like summer sunbeams on the lawn, 
That make the landscape fair, 

Youth is the glowing of the dawn, 

With beauty everywhere. 

Smiles and flowers, brooks and bowers. 
And bird songs cheer the way. 

Nothing but pleasure fills the hours 
And brightens all the day. 

But soon the night of age comes on, 

And summer turns to fall; 

And once where sunbeams softly shone, 
A mist hangs over all 

’Tis but a day, when it is past, 

From glowing youth to age— 

A glance of the eye, sadly cast 
Across life’s gilded stage. 


If a man fully knew himself he would 
know God; and if he knew God, he would 
know all there is to know. All knowledge 
is summed up in the Infinite, and He must 
be approached through His creations. Col¬ 
lege parchment don’t make a man wise, 
only so far as it gives him power to inter¬ 
pret Nature, and this power is secured 
through study of phenomena. 


Only Disgust. 

Where ever we may chance to be, 
Money kings shout, “Prosperity !” 

But it should be for every man, 

As well as members of a clan. 

’Tis little use taffy to give 
To men who starve trying to live. 

No man will be a pessimist 
With only dry crusts in his fist. 

He knows full well that he’s outclassed, 
While Plenty’s car is going past, 

Steered past his door by Captain Trust. 
The cry excites only disgust. 


The drugery of the home becomes a 
service of delight under the magic of good 
nature on the part of all the inmates. But 
alas ! how we magnify molehills into moun¬ 
tains, and turn rivulets into rivers of 
trouble. 


I like the bustle, the tussle, the grind, the 
grumble the glitter and the glare of the 
great city thoroughfare, but it must be ad¬ 
mitted they benumb the finer sensibilities 
of the soul. 















DRIFTWOOD 


7S 


Would Not Offend. 

Not every man can be a king, 

Nor every woman be a queen, 

But every heart can learn to sing, 

And plenty smile where want is seen. 

’Tis right adjustment that brings joy 
And comfort into any home. 

While false relations must annoy 

People and places where they come. 

Let Nature’s harmony prevail 
In human institutions, then 

The after evils they assail, 

Would not offend the hearts of men. 


Men who employ help must learn to 
treat them right if they expect them to 
work for their interest. A reputation for 
being a crank is the poorest asset a busi¬ 
ness man can have. And yet there are 
employers who think it a trait of character 
that inspires awe, whereas it only kindles 
contempt. A good business man will aim 
to secure the respect, the confidence and 
the affection of his employes if he expects 
faithful service. A good moral character, 
too, stands next to capital in securing suc¬ 
cess. 


Formality Weakens Worship. 

’Tis not in posture nor by speech, 

The ear of God I hope to reach, 

But by an impulse of the heart 
That’s higher than any form of Art. 

In humble mood I must aspire 
If I, by prayer, shall reach desire. 

Not charm of speech or haughty ways 
Have any part in prayer or praise. 


We must always consider environment 
before making up estimate of character. 
You wouldn’t judge an Ute Indian by the 
standard of a United States senator. And 
yet, so far as honesty is concerned, the 
savage might not suffer by the comparison. 


Your Way. 

Indulge no gloomy thought, 
Be cheerful night and day. 
Then the good things sought 
Are sure to come your way. 


The man who postpones his good deeds 
to the future, will never perform them. 


Hard To Please. 

The crabbed man, the cranky man, 
Makes strife where’er he goes. 

Be just as careful as you can 
You’ll tread upon his toes. 

’Tis idle to attempt to please 
The man who pets his spleen, 

For though you go upon your knees, 
He’ll call your motive mean. 


The automobile habit has grown to be a 
mania that affects every part of the country. 
And yet, unless decided improvements in 
construction and price are made, I predict 
the scrap-heaps of the future will rise up 
against them. The man that will put the 
price of a house and lot or a farm into one, 
shows that there are some wheels in his 
head that are out of cog. 


Two Things. 

There are two things I must perform. 
Two duties of each day. 

The first is to love my God, 

The second to obey. 

But how shall I this task fulfill, 

This love how shall I show? 

If I my duty do to man, 

I please my God I know. 


’Tis not by condoning, but by condemn¬ 
ing sin that society is improved. The man 
that apologizes for an offense because of 
the standing of the offender, be he Presi¬ 
dent, Senator, priest or preacher, becomes 
a partner in the iniquity and only adds fuel 
to the flame of fraud. 


’Tis Then. 

The only time one finds sweet rest, 

Is when hands are folded on his breast. 
The grave shuts out the keenest quest 
Of everything that could molest. 


Thoughts are things, they are more, they 
are inspirations, and if they be the impulse 
to good, it matters not what agency or in¬ 
fluence begets them in the heart. In this 
utilitarian age, results focus the best think¬ 
ing. 

Lots of people work themselves to death 
trying to live without labor. 















76 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Silent City. 

It lies beyond the traffic line, 

Lone, silent, grim and gray, 

And those its clammy walls confine, 

Can ne’er get away. 

They never seek the gay seaside, 

To spend vacation there, 

Nor seek the country, wild and wide, 

To breathe the mountain air. 

Though some may rest in mansions grand, 
They have a solemn air, 

A silence none can understand— 

No sign of mirth is there. 

No jealousy or strife creeps through 
The city’s bolted gate. 

It lies out in the sun and dew, 

But storms ne’er devastate. 

No social caste is recognized 
By those who dwell therein ; 

None are exalted, none despised, 

And none rich prizes win. 

No twenty story buildings pierce 
The golden, glowing sky ; 

No crowds or mobs, mild or fierce, 

Go madly rushing by. 

But quiet reigns year after year, 

Few tread its avenues. 

The pilgrim’s eyes bespeak the tear, 

And grief his speech subdues. 

Few gladly seek abiding place 
Within its precincts still; 

Though few desire, yet all the race 
A dwelling there must fill. 


Men who grub the hardest get the hard¬ 
est “grub.” 


Joy bells in the average home don’t ring 
loud enough to disturb the neighbors. 


A sour husband will make a sweet wife 
bitter. 


Independence of thought is the inspira¬ 
tion to lofty achievement. There can be 
no nobility of conduct with servility of 
mind. 


When a person does right, there is little 
said about it, but if his conduct don’t line 
up to the strict letter of the law, there is 
generally more said than is his just due. 


Day Dreams. 

Learn to do and not to wait. 

Indolence stands at the gate 
And peers within, with idle hope 
That Luck will come, the gate to ope; 

But resolution is the thing 
To lift the latch the gate to swing. 

Dreams are for night time, when men sleep. 
And day, the time that they should reap. 
Be up and doing, and disdain 
To dream, for day dreams are in vain. 
Fortune is a fickle jade; 

In waiting for her, nothing’s made. 

The millionaire is he who dare 
Smite Fortune with his knuckles bare. 

Had Grant or Lincoln dared to wait, 
Bowed in the dust before her gate, 

The nation would, in sackcloth, be 
Wailing her loss of liberty. 

And so the maxim seems most wise ; 

You must struggle if you would rise. 


When a man starts out looking for 
trouble, he don’t need to take a field-glass. 


A peculiarity about some people is their 
certainty about uncertainties. 


The man who never did a wrong, 

Has not as yet made report, 

But when he does once sing his song, 
He’ll make a lot of sport. 


Often the joy we anticipate is the sor¬ 
row that is hidden. 


’Tis the feet that stumble 
That are made sore, 

And lives that are humble, 
The angel’s watch o’er. 


The gentleman is polite to everyone 
without regard to station or stamp. 


The invalid may test our sympathy, but 
the chronic grunter tries our patience. 


The New Rule. 

Do unto others as you would 
Have others do to you. 

That is the rule of life you should 
Forever keep in view. 

But the world, we must admit, 

Has sadly changed the plan. 
This is the rule that seems to fit : 
“ Do others all you can. ” 
























DRIFTWOOD 


77 


Social Distinctions A Fraud. 

I believe that Nature everywhere places 
special emphasis on the doctrine of equal¬ 
ity, and I endorse her proclamation of 
brotherhood. Not that all men are equal 
intellectually or morally, but that society 
has no business to discriminate to the prej¬ 
udice of any one on account of position or 
possession. I don’t believe that any man, 
because he has more money, has a right to 
say to me, if I am in his employ, you must 
wear some badge or uniform that advertises 
your inferiority. All work is honorable if 
it serve a useful purpose. If I am employ¬ 
ed as a coachman, it is because my services 
are needed, and I don’t think I should be 
forced to wear a uniform that proclaims 
me to the world as a lackey. What is 
gained to the good of society by such a 
policy? I want to say that no man can ad¬ 
vance on the retrograde movement of 
another. Let us adopt a policy that shall 
tend to bring everybody up, instead of 
crushing them down, because they are poor 
or intellectually inferior. Nature makes 
no such distinctions, and only when society 
or human institutions, are in harmony with 
natural provisions, can good conditions ob¬ 
tain. I will fight any movement or any 
tendency to create social distinctions on the 
basis of money or position. I know it will 
do little good, but it puts me on the side of 
Nature, and then do I know I am nearest 
to God. I don’t care anything about public 
opinion. If I think a thing is wrong I’ll 
condemn it; If right I’ll commend it, 
though all the world oppose. If there is 
any potency in my pen it shall be employed 
against sham, hypocrisy and fraud. I know 
newspapers are subservient. They daren’t 
condemn nor commend without first can¬ 
vassing the bearing it would have upon 
their circulation. And yet, I believe a 
perfectly independent paper has an open 
field. I would like to associate myself with 
such a paper to fight the fads and frauds 
and social follies of the times. Preacher’s 
daren’t do it, and churches are too widely 
implicated to chastise or even criticise. 


The silent tongue is in the wise head. 


Life’s Battlefield. 

Be not a jumping jack to move 
When some one pulls the string, 

No will-power of your own to prove 
That you are not a thing. 

Too many people but exist, 

Creatures of circumstance. 

They think Fate has them on her list, 
And will not to advance. 

I like the man that has the will 
To strike back at the world, 

Who blow for blow shall give, and still 
His banner keep unfurled. 

The bravest soldiers do not wear 
The finest uniform, 

They reach the front who do not fear 
The battle’s fiercest storm. 

So, on the battle field of life, 

Proud record may be won, 

If hero shall not cease the strife 
Until the battle’s done. 


Deformities of the soul are reflected in 
the face. 


No one can get far away from God, who 
walks with his conscience in any direction. 


I have no fears for the man that is busy. 
Idleness is the devil’s bait, and the saloon 
is his fishing place. 


Duty and desire often hold animated dis¬ 
cussions at some crossing in the road of 
life, and then take opposite directions. 


You may say it takes courage to commit 
suicide, but the suicide is always a coward. 
He lacks the moral courage to face life’s 
sterner problems. 


Many times people antagonize in thought 
and feeling, when they have no real dif¬ 
ferences. All they want is a fair and 
truthful statement of opinion. 


Custom. 

The beaten road is the road to go, 

Though the end thereof you may not know, 
And though it lead up mountain steeps, 
Who leaves the path, walks not, but creeps. 














78 


DRIFTWOOD 


Progress. 

The deeds of men, how great are they ! 

If done with saber, pen or plane, 

They serve to brighten every way, 

And prove that life is not in vain. 
Achievement is the greater need 
Than principles set forth in creed. 

Mountains are tunneled; temples reared, 
And rivers crossed below their beds. 

N© longer obstacles are feared. 

The earth trembles where Science treads. 
Canals are dug; tracks are laid 
To open up new lines of trade. 

“Press onward,” is the watchword strong. 

Great ships between two oceans sail. 
Progress is the triumphant song 
That utters no such word as “fail.” 

The earth is conquered; man has won. 

Let him be proud of what he’s done. 

But let him not too boastful be, 

And vaunt his prowess to the skies. 
Though he may vanquish land and sea, 

’Tis not in skill true honor lies. 

Virtue and peace and brotherhood, 

Are things that bring the higher good. 

The age is fast and money builds 
Factories and banks and stores, 

With domes the morning sunlight gilds, 

And opens mines of priceless ores. 

And yet, we see amid the rage, 

Want that shames commercial age. 

The idle millions pleading stand 

Where furnace fires flash and flame, 

And famine, with her bony hand 
Outstretched, to the nation’s shame, 
Belies the promises of creeds 
That fail to meet the nation’s needs. 

We want a truer brotherhood 
To overcome the greed of men. 

We want to teach the higher good 
In palace or in prison pen. 

Progress signifies what is done 
To meet the needs of every one. 

’Tis not armies and navies strong, 

Nor merchant ships that whiten seas, 
Nor marts where eager tradesmen throng— 
’Tis not one nor all of these— 

But rather conditions that shall give 
To all an equal chance* to live. 

Nature ordains this right divine, 

And full provision has she made. 

No one in want and woe need pine, 

But for the unjust laws of trade 
That starve the many to feed the few, 
Beyond the measure that is their due. 


Time is the scene-shifter in the play of life. 


Happiness. 

There is a difference between acting up¬ 
on and operating through. God acts 
through Nature by means of established 
and eternal laws that cannot be abbrogated 
nor modified by man’s caprice. He might 
breathe a prayer with every breath from 
the cradle to the casket, it wouldn’t modify 
in the slightest degree the processes of 
Nature as they relate to physical, mental, 
or moral conditions. All that can affect 
his happiness or welfare is harmony of 
relationship; finding and obeying the laws 
of being in all of Nature’s kingdoms. 
Heaven is harmony of relationship, whether 
it be found in the present life or life to 
come. Don’t be fooled by ruler, teacher 
or preacher that elaborates any other theo¬ 
ry for securing happiness. The religions 
of the world have led men along the line 
of thought that God acts by extrinsic in¬ 
stead of intrinsic forces that can’t be 
changed by human wish or will. When 
you learn the philosophy of life you will 
be able to secure harmony and hence, hap¬ 
piness. 


If We Could. 

Oh that we all could only learn 
Life’s lessons as revealed each day, 
And take the good and bad in turn, 
Thankful, indeed, they come our way, 
For both are part of life’s emprise 
That God ordains to meet our needs. 
Then let them teach us to be wise 

Above the terms of man-made creeds. 


If there is a person in the world I pity, 
it is the man that is bound in the bonds of 
sin; that he knows he is the slave of some 
habit that is drawing him down. The man 
who has no temptation feels no trepidation. 


The important lesson the majority of 
men need to learn, is that their obligations 
as husbands are just as binding as women’s 
duties as wives. 


Truth alone is sacred. There is no 
sanctity in creeds or theories that have not 
been proven out by the eternal verities of 
Nature. 












DRIFTWOOD 


79 


Death Means Higher Life. 

When grim death’s spell is on us, 
Shall the soul then slumber deep, 

Wrapt in eternal silence, 

And no fond memories keep? 

Shall all be then forgotten; 

Earth fade forever away? 

Shall Love and Hope and Feeling 
Know no resurrection day? 

Think thus if you will, O mortal, 
But I have a brighter view. 

I think the grave but the portal 
To Life, that we pass through. 

It ope’s the way to visions 

That transcend all earthly scenes. 

It leads to life elysian, 

Surpassing earth’s fondest dreams. 


When a man gets to the front, then it 
may be prudent for him to boast of his 
humble origin, not before. Had Lincoln 
never occupied the White House, the world 
would never have known whether he was 
born in a log-cabin or in a castle on the 
Rhine. 


When you feel an impulse to pray, take 
a basket and go in search of the poor, 
sickly widow and little children that are 
hungry, and rest assured your prayer will 
be answered. 


A great many men get down in this 
world because in trying to get up they bite 
off more than they can chew or assimilate, 
though properly masticated. 


A duty pointed out in a paragraph is 
better than the same truth brought out in a 
studied sermon. The shortest path reaches 
the desired place soonest. 


The value of a human soul is appreciat¬ 
ed when a ten thousand dollar preacher 
only converts one sinner to offset his year s 
salary. 

Keep the temper sweet and you keep the 
home fragrant. 


The Men That Make A Hit. 

Do you read the papers closely, 
Their pictures scan them o’er. 
Their columns are filled mostly 
By the men who make a score. 
Not in the field of science, 

Not in learning’s deep domain, 
But the men who on the diamond 
Make a lucky home-run gain. 

The country has gone daffy, 

We all have to admit, 

And have our choicest taffy 
For the men who make a hit. 
Great statesmen and bold preachers 
Don’t stand any show at all, 

With the public and the bleachers 
Who bawl loudest for base ball. 


I have seen children prettier than the 
daintiest wax doll human genius ever made. 
Man can imitate, but he can’t match the 
Infinite in any direction. In all his imita¬ 
tions there is something he cannot supply. 
What is it? Soul, Spirit, Life. We must 
go beyond human skill and power in the 
final analysis. 


No man or company ever loses anything 
by observing common business courtesy. 
Politeness may be only a polish that affects 
not the pocket, but no one can ignore busi¬ 
ness civility and not suffer financially as 
in reputation. 


Reproaches seldom reform. It takes love 
to lift up, sympathy to sustain and help to 
hold. These elements united with Christ¬ 
ian faith seldom fail. 


It is singular that people will make 
trouble for themselves out of mere trifles 
and then lay it to Fate. 


The burdens of a family are easy when 
its duties and responsibilities are properly 
divided. 


No need fear being chided for exceed¬ 
ing the speed limit in running on missions 
of mercy. 




















80 


DRIFTWOOD 


Not All Your Way. 

It might be quite an easy thing 
For everybody to do right, 

If they would only try to sing 

And watch out for the side that’s bright. 

Look for the lining to the cloud, 

The silver lining always there, 

Nor let the bier, the pall and shroud 
Cast frightful phantoms everywhere. 

There’s more of sunshine than of rain, 
The Summer’s bloom offsets the snow; 

There’s more of pleasure than of pain, 

If it be sought where’er you go. 

It all depends on how you see 

Things as they cross your path each day; 

You can’t expect all to agree, 

Nor everything to come your way. 

• ft takes a lot of folk, you know, 

To fill a great round world like this, 

And they are best who travel slow 
And gather pearls that others miss. 

’Tis not the bird that seeks to rest 
Upon the most aspiring spray 

Of forest tree, that sees the best 

The worm that’s crawling in the clay. 

What priceless lessons we might learn 
Of life and how to get along, 

From Nature, if we’d only turn 
And see the right instead of wrong. 

And if each one would be content 
To take his share, and truly say 

“I don’t expect that Nature meant 
Everything to come my way.” 


Often the best hit a man ever makes is a 
blunder. 


Pride is a stronger incentive to action 
than principle. 


The horse that is docked should protest 
with his heels. 


I do not fear to antagonize thought; fric¬ 
tion of the mind keeps it healthy. 


It is said hades is the only place where 
all the inhabitants are willing to take water. 


The love of money may not be the 
strongest passion that moves men, but it is 
about the most industrious. 


Don’t Doubt. 

If Adam were not, 

Eve could not have been; 
No snake nor no D —1 
To tempt her to sin. 

No Eve, then no Eden, 
With prohibited fruit, 
And no need for fig leaves 
To make her a suit. 
There’s danger in doubting 
One point in the plot, 
Unless you are willing 
To give up the lot. 


Policy may make friends, but it takes 
shrewdness to keep them. 


The man that can’t, and knows it, is easy 
to get along with, but the man that can’t 
and thinks he can is a bore. 


If you investigate closely you will find 
the motives that move men are mostly mer¬ 
cenary. 


The power to put ourselves in tune with 
our surroundings, is the power that secures 
success and happiness. In other words, 
we must cheerfully conform to conditions 
that are inevitable. 


We may court pleasure, desire the de¬ 
lights of travel, long for the luxury of 
wealth, aspire for admiration, but these are 
not the things that are bedded deepest in 
our nature, and there comes a time when 
their insignificance it perceived. 


It is difficult to think along many chan¬ 
nels at once and think to a purpose. Con¬ 
centration makes force of thought. Nor is 
great intellectual force generated when the 
mind is distracted by anxiety over physical 
wants. The great writer or preacher or 
lawyer or doctor must be free from domes¬ 
tic cares and financial worry. The church 
that would get the best results from the 
labors of its pastor should pay him salary 
sufficient to assure him that the material 
wants of his family are abundantly provid¬ 
ed for. Worry and deep anxiety lest the 
supply of bread and butter be limited are 
not conducive to the best pulpit efforts. 




















DRIFTWOOD 


81 


“ I don’t know where I’m going, but I 
know I’m on my way.” Any one can sub¬ 
scribe to that sentiment, and they can con¬ 
fidently add, “I know I am bound for the 
goal of the grave.” What is in keeping 
for anyone beyond that, is all speculation ; 
and one theory is as good as another. Of 
course, I know some claim that the way is 
blazed from the grave to glory, so that it is 
not possible to mistake the road, but I 
notice that the most confident are looking 
all the time for guide boards. 


I Wish It Might. 

May what we think to-day, 

Outline our thoughts to-morrow, 
In thinking out a way 

To rid the world of sorrow. 


The pageantry of the world would pre¬ 
vent its poverty. 


A great many men who make the most 
noise are fond of singing “ On the Soft 
Pedal.” 


Give Thanks. 

“Give thanks for what?” the poor working 
man said, 

As he trudged to his ill-paid daily 
toil. 

“ Shall I give thanks for a little rye 
bread, 

And a chance to sleep on tax-ridden 
soil? 

If this be the bounty that God provides, 

Giving thanks, His mercy only derides. 

“But I know, too well, ’tis the greed of 
man, 

And not God’s justice, that I should 
assail. 

All would be perfect, if kind nature’s 
plan, 

In human statutes could only prevail. 

So I’ll work and wait for the better day, 

When nature’s provisions, all shall obey.” 


Parents should be careful what they say 
befcre their children. They are sensitive 
echoing-boards. The bad word and the 
unseemly conduct many many times will 
be reflected in them to the parent’s deep 
chagrin, and often to their disgrace. 


A Part. 

There’s a look in the trees 
That saddens all, 

There’s a moan in the breeze 
That tells of fall. 

There’s a thought in the heart, 
Lips can’t express, 

Yet we know we are part 
Of the Limitless. 


Most people act as if life were the only 
investment they had to look after. 


Marriage may be a divine institution, 
but it too often bears devilish fruit. 


The man who has no thought only to 
make money, will enter upon the other life 
a pauper. His soul will be so shriveled it 
would rattle in a cockle seed shell. 


The Tide Of Life. 

The tide of life ebbs and flows, 

Bringing our pleasures or our woes, 

But what we share, is better known 
Through what we feel than what is shown. 


The pugilist makes money hand over 
fist. 


There is no call louder than the voice of 
God appealing to the ear of the soul. 


At Last. 

A hearse and carriages in a row, 
Slowly filing past! 

That’s the way we all must go, 
Solemnly at last. 

From palace or from hovel door, 
Result is just the same. 

One may have a few hacks more, 
But Death has won the game. 


We understand things only relatively; 
our knowledge of them or their phenom¬ 
ena is obtained by contrast. We can’t 
comprehend God, or life, or death, or love 
in the soul, because we have nothing high¬ 
er and holier to contrast them with. They 
are out of the reach of comparison. 


People are strong only as they overcome. 




















82 


DRIFTWOOD 


’Tis Hard To Reconcile. 

At eve she watched at the window pane, 
And longed for me to come. 

But now she looks and longs no more : 
Tne angels took her home. 

Alas ! how sad, how desolate 
Seem everything to-day ! 

I do not know, I cannot see 
Why they took her away. 

We called her “ Sunshine,” for she made 
Our home so very bright.. 

But now death’s shadow hangs o’er all—- 
We have no more sunlight. 

It may be that dear God knew best, 
Though we may not see why, 

He sent his angels here to take 
Sunshine out of our sky. 

I try to be submissive quite 
To my dear Father’s will. 

And yet ’tis hard to reconcile 
His dealings, and keep still. 


A minute of madness is a month in vital¬ 
ity wasted. 


The men that- can meet opposition and 
keep their temper are the men that win 
victories in any polemic contest. 


“One half the world don’t know how the 
other half lives.” It is often the same 
with a man and his wife. 


Whatever the relative merits of male 
and female clerks in stores, it is undeni¬ 
able that the latter make the better front¬ 
door ornaments. 


It may be true that the rich man isn’t 
as happy as the poor man, nevertheless, the 
latter would be willing to split the differ¬ 
ence with the millionaire. 


The reason women are better than men 
is because their lives tie them closer to 
the cradle or the casket. No mother ever 
nursed her baby without feeling the fires 
of Heaven burning in her soul; and if 
there is a being on earth to be adored it is 
the woman or the girl who has a keen 
sense of the sacredness, the responsibili¬ 
ties and the honor of motherhood. 


Abiding Place. 

The little boy who gets up in the morn¬ 
ing and comes down stairs in his “nighty ” 
to be tenderly waited upon by an indulg¬ 
ent mother, is seeing the sunrise of his life; 
and the mother sees the sunset of her joy 
as he grows away from her, to learn the 
cruel lessons of the world— 

The morn of life is dawn of heaven, 

The light of which illumes the soul. 

How blest the child to whom is given 
This light to light to higher goal. 

To his young vision all is fair, 

No cloud is seen in roseate sky, 

Sweet birds are singing in the air, 

Nor dreams he of the by and by. 

O could this vision last for aye, 

And life’s deep sorrows ne’er be known. 

The clouds of grief all rolled away 
And only earth’s best things be shown; 

No bitter strife, no greed of gold, 

No jealous stings, no word of hate, 

And only love’s sweet tale be told, 

No one to scoff and none berate— 

Could all these things, life’s cup o’erflow. 
From blissful youth to life’s decline, 

And everybody scorn to know 

And do the deeds that make men pine, 

Then we would round out God’s intent 
In His creation of the race. 

In place of wars, peace would be sent, 
And love would have abiding place. 


Most people wear their prejudices as a 
garment, and if you strip it off, they stand 
shivering with fear. 


The greatest barrier to the world’s en- 
ligtenment, is its fear of the truth, lest it 
overthrow preconceived opinions. 


A man may be able to fool away money 
and not mind it, but he isn’t rich enough 
in honor that he can afford to sacrifice 
reputation. 


No matter how pretty the face, if there 
is no native wit and grace of heart and 
soul, woman has little fascination. Beauty 
is more than dimples in the cheeks, gloss 
of hair or flash of eye; it is that indescrib¬ 
able charm of manner that is an attribute 
of the soul. 

















DRIFTWOOD 


83 


All We Can Do Is Wait. 

When energy and strength are gone, 
What more has life for us in store? 
No matter what we may have done, 
Our days of usefulness are o’er. 

All we can do then is to wait 
The angel’s time to ope’ death’s gate. 

Though long or short shall be the time 
We linger on the border-line, 
Waiting to pass to fairer clime, 

Visions we have of life divine, 

For earth with heaven interblends; 

As earth recedes heaven descends. 


Revelry is generally an effort to drown 
remorse. 


No man can win prominence with pov¬ 
erty, peace with privation nor respect with 
rags. 


Nothing succeeds like failure. People 
who start on the road to ruin have great 
success in reaching the terminus. 


It don’t cost any more to be happy than 
miserable in money nor half as much in 
physical or nervous energy. One well- 
defined fit of the blues is more exhaustive 
of vitality than an entire week at a joy 
festival. 


Someway I can’t bring myself down to 
think that earth limits life. I can’t believe 
that within a brain that perishes are locked 
up all possibilities of thought and achieve¬ 
ment. Nor do I get any satisfaction in 
thinking of life without personality— 

O breath, depart, 

Perish, O brain, 

Be pulseless, heart, 

I’ll live again. 


Peering Behind The Scenes. 

There are plenty of people in the world 
who are never contented with their condi¬ 
tion, but are always looking for something 
wonderful to be revealed in tea grounds or 
by lines in the hand. They forget that 
fate is never fathomed by freaks. The 
fortune-teller has another guess coming 
always. 


At Nature’s Shrine. 

I’d like to be alone with God, 

Where Nature shuts out art; 

Where foot of man hath never trod, 
Close to her throbbing heart. 

For ’tis through Nature God is known, 
His attributes and power. 

The massive mountains are his throne, 
The woods his richest dower. 

I’d seek seclusion deep and still, 
Within the forest shade. 

With murmur of the mountain rill, 
The sweetest music made. 

Is there an anthem all divine? 

Hear we a cadence sweet? 

’Tis when we kneel at Nature’s shrine 
And worship at her feet. 


I believe there is too much wrapt up in 
human nature to be totally surrendered to 
grave worms at the expiration of earth’s 
brief limit. I believe also the liveliest 
imagination can’t begin to conceive of the 
marvelous achievements of mind, through 
scientific research, that the future will un¬ 
fold; but I don’t believe physical science 
will ever unravel the mystery of life or 
solve the problem of death, without recog¬ 
nizing Spirit as a fundamental factor of 
Nature, and the primal source of all human 
activity, mental or physical. Spirit is 
above matter, and dominates it whether it 
be in the form of muscle or brain cell. 
Can science drive love out of the heart, or 
hope, or dislodge the religious instinct 
from the soul? These are attributes of 
God, incarnated in human personalities, 
that no man can remove or disprove. 
There are Eternal verities that reason does 
not attempt to reach, much less to explain ; 
yet we accept them as facts in the realm 
of Spirit. 


“Music hath charms to sooth the savage 
beast,” but it can’t quell quarrels in church 
choirs. 


Man is woman’s god elevated on a car¬ 
nal pedestal, and when the foundation 
crumbles the idol falls; and the strange 
thing about it is, they too often immedi¬ 
ately erect another. 

















84 


DRIFTWOOD 


If Flowers Bloom and Birds Sing. 

I do not care just when nor where 
My humble grave be made, 

If flowers bloom and birds sing there, 
And trees shed grateful shade. 

But if cold winter snows shall drift 
And cover deep my bed, 

And clouds hang low that rarely lift, 

I’d dread then to be dead. 

I would not have rich marble shaft 
To pierce indulgent sky, 

Such as the sculptor’s skill might draft 
To win admiring eye. 

Nor would I covet praise of men, 

Vain words of human tongue. 

I’d rest the best remembered then 
For some sweet song I’d sung. 


Bare facts need to be dressed up before 
people will accept them. 


It is singular that men will do wrong and 
expect things to go right. Success never 
comes by chance or as an accident. 


What makes the wealth of the country? 
Labor. Who enjoys it? The people who 
don’t work. 


The undertaker seemingly has a grue¬ 
some business, waiting for some one to die, 
for everybody postpones the event till the 
last minute. 


Women are not images chiseled out of 
stone, but many men treat them as though 
they were. They are as indifferent to their 
happiness as though they were blocks of 
granite or pillars of salt like Lot’s wife. 


It is personal contact with those who 
need moral and spiritual help that helps 
them. The prayer of the saint offered in 
the temple don’t lift up the sinner in the 
brothel. 

’Tis time the world had fixed a test 
Of worth, outside of creed, 

And proved that he alone is best 
Who does the noblest deed. 

Appearances have proved untrue. 

The question is: What do you do? 


Fooled Too Long. 

She refused proposals by the score. 
And kept refusing more and more, 
And failed to note that time flies fast, 
’Till opportunities were past, 

And she could only sadly sigh, 

“Why did I let my chance go by?” 


Lots of people worry a lot just by trying 
to find out a lot they’d be better off not to 
know. 


Because a girl gives her beau popcorn 
Sunday nights, she don’t want to entertain 
the hope that it will encourage him to pop 
the question. 


Expect honey without bee, 

Wool without the sheep to grow it, 
But don’t expect to live in ease 

With your money, when you blow it. 


Plenty of people think they can lead a 
life of sin and reap the rewards of virtue. 
As you sow, so shall you reap, is not only a 
declaration of scripture, but a law of na¬ 
ture. Yet it seems that experience is the 
only teacher that can enforce the lesson. 


The wise man is not the man whose 
skull is crammed with book knowledge, but 
the man who has been up against the stiff 
propositions of business, politics and society 
and always kept his head. 


Why Should It. 

Women of the olden time, 

Took pleasure in a baby’s care, 
To-day they gladly would exchange 
The baby for a Teddy bear. 

’Tis true we can’t account for taste. 

Why should a cotton flannel brute 
Beguile their time, absorb their love, 
When babies are so sweet and cute? 


Sad indeed is the fate of that mother 
who, having brought up one generation, 
has no sweet morsel of life, in her declin¬ 
ing years, than to go around among her 
children and take care of their babies. I 
pity the poor “ gran’ma ” that has to be 
nurse for two generations. 





















DRIFTWOOD 


85 


Rebuke Is Rarely Remedy. 

Love, faith, charity and goodwill 
Are gospel graces sought 

By him who seeks the soul to fill 
With truths the Saviour taught. 

No bitterness, no cruel word 
Was burden of His tongue. 

The gospel that He taught was heard, 
Believed and talked and sung. 

Invective never won a prize, 

Nor saved a soul from sin, 

And to employ it is not wise 
If one shall hope to win. 

Gentleness of way and speech, 

And smile instead of frown, 

Are blessings that the quickest reach 
The sinner that is down. 

The poor man in the chains of drink, 
The felon in his cell, 

The harlot will be led to think, 

If love’s sweet tale you tell. 

O man, spurn not the down and out. 

O woman, scorn not your sex. 

Sin only can be put to rout 
When want shall not perplex. 

Remove conditions that oppress 
And make it hard to live, 

And those in chains of want you’ll bless, 
And higher impulse give. 

’Tis not by preaching doubtful creed, 

Or gospel sound or weak, 

You drive out sin by meeting need, 

And words of love you speak. 


The human form may be divine, but it 
is before fashion has added its deformity. 


Some men are quite noted where they 
are not known. 


I pity the man that can’t pit himself 
against temptation and win. 


Many persons are on the animal plane 
because they are satisfied to be used as 
catspaws. 

The man who wrecks a home by his 
folly, never knows how big a fool he was 
until in after years he stands in the dis¬ 
tance, taking the cold blasts of the world, 
and contemplating its ruins. 


Domestic Help. 

I do not blame girls and women for as¬ 
piring to any position their talents fit them 
for, if thereby they attain to higher social 
position and greater independence; but 
there is no service that contributes more to 
human happiness and well-being than the 
duties of the housewife. It is poor policy 
to let commercialism or social ostracism 
rob the home of female help. It is almost 
impossible to-day to secure competent help 
in any line of domestic duties. So marked 
is this lack that it threatens revolution in 
all the economies of domestic life and 
home relationships. Think back twenty-five 
years; you will remember it was possible 
to hire good help in the home. Life was 
less fictitious, but not less pleasurable nor 
barren of high ideals. It is not wise to 
revolutionize the home and let our women 
go out upon the sea of speculation in search 
of adventure and in quest of treasure. 
The home is the true man’s heaven, and 
home does not mean apartments in a family 
hotel or a place where the clumsey, inade¬ 
quate service of a man takes the place of 
the facile fingers, the genius and the adap¬ 
tability of woman. No, I counsel girls, as 
they contemplate matrimony, and value the 
joys of a home of their own, not to con¬ 
temn a knowledge of good housekeeping. 
Ignorance opens the way to infelicity. 
The husband wants not an expert operator 
on the typewriter so much as he wants a 
helpmeet in the home, and a discreet coun¬ 
selor in domestic affairs. There is danger 
of the marriage institution becoming obso¬ 
lete and the home being wrecked by the 
spirit of commercialism, and gross ignor¬ 
ance of domestic economies on the part of 
our girls. 


One Aim And End. 

Men differ in feature and color and 
tongue; 

Have piques and struggles and bitter 
strife, 

But there comes a time when confession 
is wrung, 

That however varied, ’tis all one life. 

God is the fountain head of all; 

In him there are no great nor small. 














86 


DRIFTWOOD 


May Rise Again. 

Who falls, may fall to rise again, 

If resolution shall be strong, 

For there’s a force outside of men 
To lift them from the wrong. 

Man’s weakness is his greatest strength, 
According to our creed. 

And he will find his help, at length, 

If he shall find his need. 


A great many men are called up, just to 
get called down. 


As a rule the best positions are filled by 
the poorest men, in business, Church or 
State. 


If men were half as large as their proj¬ 
ects, the world would be vastly over-popu¬ 
lated. 


There are three things that make the 
useful man. The eye to see, the heart to 
feel and the will to act. 


Hint Good As A Kick. 

The conversation was too flat, 

The interest seemed to wane. 

He said: “I guess I’ll take my hat, 

And, if you please, my cane. 

“Really it is getting late,” 

Glancing at the clock he said, 

But when his hand was on the gate, 

She cried: “I turned the clock ahead.” 


Plain Words. 

I believe if there is a humbug in Ameri¬ 
ca to-day it is the craze over athletics. We 
want mental and spiritual giants, no physi¬ 
cal, and I denounce as impolitic and un- 
Christian the attitude of the schools and 
Christian associations in giving undue 
prominence to sporting matters The idea 
of the Y. M. C. A, countenancing sparring 
contests, and Christian people patronizing 
the stage where pugilistic exhibitions are 
given! If prize fighting is wrong, then 
everything that savors of the ring ought to 
be frowned down. Let us harmonize con¬ 
duct with creed, or else not pose before 
the world as Christians. 


Legalized Sin. 

When a girl marries an old man for his 
money, what is it but selling her honor, 
the same as the girl of the Bowery who 
parts with her purity for food and clothes? 
She gets a better price, that’s all. There 
is more sin committed to satisfy hunger or 
to gratify style than is due to absolute de¬ 
pravity. Whenever I hear of a wedding 
being celebrated without any regard for 
the principle of compatibility, I know it is 
only an unwise bargain between pride and 
purity. As soon as the bewitching glam¬ 
our of a stylish wedding fades away, the 
journey then commences in the direction 
of the divorce court. No one, however 
rich, can defy nature or the natural in¬ 
stincts of the heart, without inviting cha¬ 
grin, remorse and bitter disappointment 
into the life, later. Style is a siren that 
sings at the altar to sigh at the hearth¬ 
stone. 


The Plan. 

I know a mechanic that’s king. 

He owns five acres of ground, 
And he can cheerfully sing, 

With plenty all around. 

He keeps his cow and his fowls, 
And also a stylish rig, 

And when the monopolist howls, 
He says: “Go on with your jig.” 

Supposing that all men own 
A little of God’s free soil, 

I think that it could be shown 
That kings are the men that toil. 

Five acres a piece, will supply 
Every poor family’s need, 

Then poverty would not cry, 

Nor the hearts of any bleed. 

Oh! men, so deep in your lore, 

In solving the social plan, 

All you need is to restore 
God’s gift of the soil to man. 


Some people are always looking for 
faults in others, and find them of course, 
but what is the good of their discovery 
since they only emphasize their own de¬ 
pravity? I prefer to look for virtues in 
others. It emboldens me to claim some 
merit for myself. 













DRIFTWOOD 


87 


Will The Time Come? 

The race is cut up into clans, 

Not on lines just and true, 

Not on standards Nature commands, 

Are these distinctions due. 

1 hey’re based on money and on land 
And stocks and bonds men have on hand. 

If intellect were made the test 
And virtue made supreme, 

Instead of money being best, 

’Twould end the vile pipe dream. 
Merit would then be based on deeds 
And honor found in helping needs. 

I wonder if the time will come 
When virtue has true worth, 

When lips no longer will be dumb 
In praise of humble birth, 

But when all shall their tributes bring 
To worthy subject as to king. 


Nothing is so weak as a weak man’s 
resolution, 


When sense of right is stronger than 
appetite, life is bright. 


The lion of monopoly may lie down with 
the lamb of labor, but the lamb is in the 
stomach of the lion, figuratively speaking. 


When women are admired for their 
beauty they are not properly appreciated; 
when they are prized for their services 
they are exalted. 


Give Them Their Due. 

I honor the men that have self-respect 
Enough to demand respect from others, 
And resent the slight and cold neglect, 

And that contempt that good feeling 
smothers. 

Nothing is gained by slighting the man 
That does the work of the artisan. 

The builders of fortunes and temples 
grand, 

Are the greatest heroes of any age. 

With genius and foresight and skill of hand, 
They write the story of historic page. 
Then give to working men I say their due 
Whatever line they may pursue. 


When conditions are such that the peo¬ 
ple cannot take care of themselves pater¬ 
nalism is patriotism. 


Too Sacred For Jest. 

Nothing is more ridiculous than for men 
to ridicule things they know nothing about, 
and yet it is quite common with a certain 
class of newspaper men and writers to 
make light of matters that have sbsorbed 
the attention of the best writers and think¬ 
ers of the country for many years. Per¬ 
haps no field of investigation is more in¬ 
viting to this class of men, than that of 
occult or psychological study. Anything 
pertaining to what they are pleased to call 
the “ supernatural ” is especially fraught 
with food for their peculiar style of wit. 
Plence, vulgar jokes, coarse innuendoes 
and insulting remarks are frequent. Some¬ 
way I have always felt that anything per¬ 
taining to, or that attempted to prove a 
future existence, was too sacred for jest or 
ridicule, and that anything in the realm 
of nature that science or human experience 
confirms, should be seriously considered. 


The Cause. 

In our attempt to live outside 

The wise provisions God has made 
Grow those distinctions, false as wide, 
In social life or realm of trade. 

For men antagonize His laws, 

To suit their own ambitious end, 
And ’tis alone from human cause 
That good and evil seem to blend. 


Some men think the four walls of a 
kitchen should limit a woman’s vision, and 
the cook book constitute her range of read¬ 
ing. But happily women are slipping their 
feet from their fetters. 


Probably the mop movement will never 
be a popular fad, nor the washtub club ever 
figure prominently among the women soci¬ 
eties of the land, nor will the dish-rag regi¬ 
ment ever have their toilets described in 
the society columns of newspapers; but 
they will always fill a prominent place in 
the domestic economy, and every man will 
exclaim—“What is home without a level 
head in the kitchen?” Style may plead for 
station, but stews make stronger appeal to 
the stomach. Appetite is a tyrant. 


















88 


DRIFTWOOD 


Truth Will Arise. 

I will not act to belie belief. 

Sincerity makes conduct wise. 

Though of the crowd I might be chief, 
Hypocricy I must despise 
It never can deceive the heart; 

The sense of right’s higher than art. 

We may weave the subtle web of rhyme, 
Or forge deep sophistry’s dull chain. 

If false, they fail, in God’s good time, 

And light shines through the clouds again. 
For true as God, Truth will arise 
And spread her pinions toward the skies. 

Why should I care what men may think, 

If in my soul conscience approve, 

And if from fount of Truth I drink, 

And courage prompts my feet to move 
Along the path duty makes plain, 

I know the end will bring me gain. 


Eternal vigilance is the price of health 
and the cost of wealth. 


The man that goes away to spend the 
summer usually comes back without money 
to spend the winter. 


Would that all might diligently seek the 
cause and cure of sin. Not that we may 
inherit eternal life, for that is a gift of 
nature, but that we may secure everlasting 
happiness. 


A new broom may sweep clean, but it 
won’t keep the house tidy standing in the 
corner. Neither will the best trade in the 
world support a man’s family unless he 
works at it. Whatever the equipment, 
there must be elbow back of it. 


A Gift Supreme. 

I have a gift—a gift supreme— 

Few others have a gift so great, 

It is a hope, bright as the dream 
Of angels, in their high estate. 

No matter what perplexes me, 

I have a cheerful view, 

For through the darkest cloud I see 
This star that I pursue. 

Come sorrow, suffering or death, 

I have a vision clear. 

And when I draw earth’s latest breath, 
I’ll pass to higher sphere. 


I’ll Welcome Him. 

The dead know not the flight of years; 
The living count them, one by one, 

They sit beside their graves, in tears, 
And often long for death to come. 

But is it right to cloud the life 
With an eternal night of gloom, 

And never know a thing but strife, 

And weeping by an empty tomb? 

Shall we no higher lesson learn 

From death, than nurturing our grief? 

Must we from all life’s pleasure’s turn 
To cherish some vain, false belief? 

I long since learned the higher truth, 
That death is not a monster grim ; 

And if he come, in age or youth, 

To me, or mine, I’ll welcome him. 


The felon looks the sharpest for things 
he don’t want to see. 


Woman is said to be man’s equal, but 
the ease with which men deceive women 
would seem to dispute the assumption. 


People who never go to hear anything 
good, can’t reasonably be expected to ex¬ 
emplify good in their lives. 


When a woman spends an hour in comb¬ 
ing her hair and improving her complex¬ 
ion, is she wasting time, or only getting 
ready for a picture show? 


As a rule it is better for a man to follow 
his own judgment than to be governed by 
the fear of criticism or too high a regard 
for public opinion. The conscientious, 
independent man is the man that makes 
his mark. 


The Parting. 

They were sitting at the table, 

After breakfast, one sad day, 

When she bowed her head and whimpered: 

“You are mean to talk that way. 

I well know your good old mother 
Could bake cakes better than I, 

And undoubtedly none other 
Could excel her custard pie. 

So I’ll abdicate the shanty 
And go back to my old home. 

You can get your old maid auntie 

To keep house for you—she’ll come.” 




















DRIFTWOOD 


89 


Crushing Them Out. 

There is no dodging the fact that legis¬ 
lation in this country is in the interest of 
corporations. Why are railroad companies 
permitted to absorb or obtain control of 
traction lines, and thus obtain advantages 
of common carriers that amount to abso¬ 
lute monopoly? This is a question of vital 
interest to the public. Yet are legislative 
bodies watchful and active along these im¬ 
portant interests of the people? Not a bit 
of it. Lobbyists continue to bribe their 
way to power, and when they can’t buy 
congressmen and state legislators, they buy 
Supreme and District Court Judges. The 
curse of monopoly is crushing out the sense 
of honor and the spirit of fairness in our 
fair land. 


Let Us Sing. 

There is a land of wondrous light, 

Beyond death’s border line, 

And those who travel to that bourn, 

With radiant glory shine. 

The mountains in that land of light 
Cast shadows back to this, 

They’re covered with sweet scented flowers 
The golden sunbeams kiss. 

The stream that flows between these lands 
—The lands of Life and Death— 

Are smooth as jasper, gleaming bright, 

And fanned by angels breath. 

The boat that sails between the shores, 

Is lined with eider down, 

The ferryman is clothed in white 
And wears a golden crown. 

The passengers that sail between 
The lands of Night and Day, 

Are spirits of departed friends— 

They travel either way. 


I never knew anybody reformed by law, 
but I have known a great many reclaimed 
by love. 


As a rule the man that blows the most 
with his mouth has the least fighting blood 
in his muscles. 


It is better to deny than to betray. The 
infidel does less harm to religion than the 
hypocrite. 


“When I Am On A Spree.” 

“When duty calls how prompt am I 
To say, Oh yes, I’ll come ! 

And yet how often I delay 
At night in getting home. 

’Tis there that duty’s call is loud, 

And yet I cannot see 

Any place that’s quite so drear, 

When I am on a spree. 

“There anxious eyes at window watch, 
And ears listen and wait, 

And nerves alert their tension keep 
For click of garden gate. 

The tower clock at midnight hour 
Sends warning note to me, 

But I forget that loved ones weep, 
When I am on a spree. 

“Faithful wife and children dear 
As diamonds, are to me. 

But revel makes me blind to things 
I know I ought to see. 

Yet I forget; I have no wit, 

Wherever I may be. 

Demons hold me in their grip, 

When I am on a spree.” 

’Twas thus a man by nature kind 
Freely his sin confessed. 

He was not deaf to duty’s call, 

Nor wished he to molest 

The happiness of those he loved, 

And why such things should be, 

Surpasses human skill to solve, 

When men are on a spree. 


There is a vast difference between wit 
and wind, but many men can’t perceive it. 


If no good results from what is spoken 
or written, what is the use of the effort? 


’Tis an ungrateful world. People for¬ 
get their obligations to God and man. 


I cannot help but sympathize with those 
who experience the hardest conditions of 
life. Many times it is the result of un¬ 
toward circumstances beyond their control. 


Rather Mean. 

Many a flower blooms unseen 
Because it blossoms out of sight. 

Many a man is considered mean 

Because he keeps in sight when tight. 
If he but knew enough to hide 
And money had, none would deride. 














90 


DRIFTWOOD 


The Strife Of Life. 

In the cities where sordid men 
Struggle and strive for gain, 

Where millions work with plane or pen, 
Some to triumph, some in vain, 

How great the sorrow that we see, 

How dark the waves of sin ! 

Though men are fair, externally, 

Their hearts are black within. 

Virtue and modesty, there, too, 

With pomp walk side by side, 

In garments old or garments new, 

In meekness or in pride. 

All, all together press along 
In market place or street, 

Breathing a sigh or humming a song, 
Where jostle busy feet. 

And all for what? Ambition’s goal ; 

The triumph of a day ! 

This is the aim of every soul, 

Or lips that curse or pray. 

Hearts sigh, hands strive, and feet 
pursue, 

A little time, and then 
All the vain things to-day we view, 

Pass out of sight of men. 

We live in crowds, yet dwell apart, 

With little love or care, 

And cherish passions in the heart 
That cause the world despair. 

’Twere better far to seek the good; 

In friendship’s bonds to dwell, 

Our aim a closer brotherhood, 

And human strife to quell. 

How sweet in rural haunts to live, 

Where man to man is true, 

And all to others strive to give 
Some help in all they do ! 

Above the bright, blue, bending sky, 
Around the flowers and trees, 

Where every one’s ambition high 
Is effort but to please. 

So near to Nature, hence to God, 

That He is felt and seen, 

And those who plan and those who plod 
Lead lives that are serene. 

I think we get the truest type 
Of character and life, 

When Love, with gentle hand shall wipe 
Away the tears of strife. 


There is no such thing as mystery, in the 
abstract. All are but parts or expressions 
of the great scheme of Nature. We may 
not understand it, but it is part of an infi¬ 
nite plan, and the way to enlightenment is 
by the study of phenomena. 


Well I Know. 

Whatever be my cross to bear, 

I’ll bear it to the end, 

Remembering, whate’er my care, 

I have One Constant Friend. 

Burdens are heavy in this life, 

And disappointments come. 

But well I know, when ends the strife, 
This Friend will lead me home. 


Why should gray hairs be a source of 
unpleasant anxiety to people? They are 
Time’s badge of honor—the insignia of 
service, and when they represent a well- 
rounded life, should be a source of pride. 
They do not indicate failure, but rather 
triumph, and are the prophecy of some¬ 
thing better soon to come. In contrast 
with locks that show no “silver threads 
among the gold,” they denote that the pos¬ 
sessor is that much nearer his crown that 
is inlaid with incomparable gems. 


Why Not? 

If conscience teach me what is right, 
And bring the good to view, 

Why may I not in its white light 
See also what is true? 

Why seek a power more divine, 

To show the perfect way? 

I know if its bright light shall shine, 

I cannot go astray. 

It is the voice of God to speak 
Within my quickened breast. 

To heed its pleadings is to seek 
A calm and peaceful rest. 


Christ was the only peacemaker that 
succeeded in making practice and preach¬ 
ing harmonize. 


Some people think it cunning to teach 
little tots to swear, and they laugh at their 
proficiency. It is the kind of cunning only 
Satan suggests. How much better to teach 
their innocent lips to utter sweet and clean 
words ! Children’s minds are plastic and 
they retain impressions Parents too often 
fail to realize this. Every unclean word 
the parent speaks, the child will remember 
and lisp after him, and often to his deep 
mortification. 












DRIFTWOOD 


91 


A Comfort. 

What a comfort it must be to a man to 
know he has the love, the confidence and 
the approval of a gentle and true wife and 
what an incentive it must be to a man to 
truly try to merit that high appreciation 
and trust. I can think of nothing in all 
the multiform relations of life, in which 
the possibilities for happiness are so great 
as those to be found in the sacred cere¬ 
mony that unites a man and woman in the 
bonds of wedlock. How utterly inexcusa¬ 
ble, then, are the petty differences that too 
often, if they do not disrupt, endanger the 
perpetuity of the sweet and sacred rela¬ 
tions of husband and wife! Preachers 
may preach and moralists write, but the 
crying need of the time is a deeper sense 
of the sacredness of the home, and a more 
strenuous struggle to maintain harmonious 
conditions in the hallowed relations of 
the family. At the rate husbands and 
wives to-day are drifting apart, one can’t 
help but appehend social chaos. 


“Down In The Mouth.” 

’Twas the day before Christmas, all bare 
was the ground, 

Not a snowflake was there anywhere to be 
found. 

The merchants were all blue with large 
stocks on hand, 

Except the great trusts with plenty of 
“sand.” 

The children’s god-father missed getting 
around— 

I suppose it was due to there being bare 
ground— 

But merchants should brace up; take a 
more cheerful view, 

And box up their trinkets; next year they’ll 
be “new.” 


One’s religion is a part of his character, 
and we have no more right to assail it than 
to attack his reputation. It may be wrong 
from our view-point, but it is sacred to 
him and should be respected. There may 
be opposing opinion, but there need not be 
rancor in urging objections. It is not so 
much what people believe, as fidelity to 
conviction, that settles the question of right 
or wrong. 


Not Argument. 

The mind must see farther than books, 
If it shall grasp the Infinite. 

Beyond the printed page it looks, 

If it receive divinest light. 

Beyond the dubious bound of creed; 

Beyond the mind’s deep postulates 
We go, to find our highest need; 

The power that conceives—creates. 

We apprehend the Infinite, 

And abstract truth can only find, 
When inspiration’s subtle light, 

Like lightning, flashes on the mind. 

God stamps his image in the heart; 

We cannot doubt him if we would, 
Somethings there are transcend all art, 
God is perceived, not understood. 


The man who estimates himself as a 
saint, ten chanches to one, is regarded as a 
scamp by the public. 


Commend the good that is and condemn 
the wrong that was, is the right rule in 
judging persons or parties. 


The man that takes pleasure in another’s 
discomfiture is the man that laws are made 
for. The pleasure of others is always a 
consideration with a genuine gentleman. 


It might be considered a good condition 
that assures warmth and food free from 
worry. Viewed in that light, the prison 
and poor house have some redeeming 
features. 


Some men always love to sing 
That charming little song, 

“Home, sweet home,” where all joys 
spring. 

Then stay out all night long. 


Little things are the factors in all big 
things; but the trouble is, they are so small 
they are lost in the shadow of the great, 
and by failing to find the little stones we 
fail to build the temple. When we are 
willing to creep before we climb we are 
in the road to success. The ox-cart was 
the forerunner of the automobile. The 
child before the man, is nature’s order, 
and we can’t reverse her methods. 














92 


DRIFTWOOD 


Silent Meditation. 

“Peace, be still.” As Christ spake these 
words to the water, so should every one 
speak them to his own soul. Tranquility 
is the principle of true growth. Soul ex¬ 
pansion never comes amidst turmoil. We 
never go to heaven on the wings of strife. 
Spiritual unfoldment comes alone through 
silence. We must bolt the door and retire 
within ourselves often for calm and peace¬ 
ful reflection, if we would feel our nature 
expanding in the direction of God and all 
that is good. Silence is the supreme stim¬ 
ulus to sub-conscious spiritual unfoldment. 
The Christian holds communion with God, 
not through oral prayer, but in silent med¬ 
itation. It is a great gift to be able cor¬ 
rectly to hear the voices of silence. 


Many. 

There are many muck rakers, 

We acknowledge the same, 

But if work is to be done 
Pray who is to blame? 

And who shall reproach them, 
Though they do all they’re able? 
Some one must clean out 
The Augean stable. 


Open defiance is better than assumed 
approval. 


How is it worse to drink before a bar 
than behind a door? 


The wise man sees all he can, but he 
don’t tell all he sees. 

Nature makes no distinctions, hence so¬ 
cial gradations amount to nothing. 


A nickle in the pocket is better than a 
dime rung up on a saloon cash register. 


Keen Kid —The apple Eve stole was a 
green apple, wasn’t it, ma? 

Mother —No, my boy, I suppose it was 
a good mellow, ripe apple. 

Keen Kid —Nope, ’twas awful green, I 
know, fur it not only hoodooed Adam, but 
it has cramped all the world ever sense. 


The Difference. 

The temperance man is diplomatic, 

He never goes in a saloon, 

But keeps beer by the case in his attic, 
And makes frequent trips to the moon. 


Own Your Home. 

Every working man should aspire to be 
the proprietor of a home. Rent is labor’s 
ruin. The working man without a home 
of his own with a little plot of ground for 
a garden, for flowers and fruits and a lawn 
for his children, is a king without a throne 
and bereft of his crown and his scepter. 
Such a home is within the scope of Nature’s 
provision, and if it is witheld from any 
family it is due to wrong social conditions 
and to unjust laws regulating property pos¬ 
session. The home should be inviolate. A 
law that exempts the home from all debts 
ought to be universal. In some states the 
exemption laws are so liberal and so wise 
that the home is safe. It should be so 
everywhere. 


It Won’t Do. 

’Tis all a struggle and a strife 
From cradle to the grave, 

And he who plays the game of life 
To win, must be brave; 

Must fight the frigid foes that frown,—- 
It will not do to be put down. 


Pluck is only another name for per¬ 
versity. 


The strongest trust is most averse to 
giving credit. 


God pity the mother that don’t want the 
world to know she is a mother. 


Nature may owe everybody a living, but 
she lets a great many of her obligations go 
to protest, unless the payee endorses her 
paper. 


Father —“Is that young man who is pay¬ 
ing his address to Alice a man of charac¬ 
ter?” 

Mother —“A man of character !” Well, 
I should say so. His people are wealthy.” 



















DRIFTWOOD 


93 


A Burning Question. 

“Does he miss me I wonder at home? 

Is he sad when I’m away? 

Or would he be mad should I come 
Back some unexpected day?” 

That is the question that burns, 

These weary vacation days, 

In the heart of wife who returns 

To watch her husband’s doubtful ways. 

She recalls how willing was he, 

“On account of feeble health,” 

To send her away to the sea 

And freely to furnish the wealth. 

And thinks of the ready excuse 
He made when the office girl 

Hinted a week off—no use— 

“Business was all in a whirl.” 


An important lesson for everyone to 
learn is to know when to put the finger 
across the lips. 


Some men rather be contrary than cor¬ 
rect, and will be, though they crucify their 
own comfort. 


One of the remarkable things about 
women is the fact that they will place so 
great confidence in men when they know 
every advantage is on the side of men. 


Someone asks the question: “ Is the 
earth becoming unsafe?” I have no pos¬ 
itive data to found an opinion upon, but 
my judgment is that the earth isn’t half 
as unsafe as the people. 


Had The Advantage. 

An aviator took a sail 

One heated summer day. 
Saloons were out of “buttermilk,” 
So he sought the milky way. 


Everybody can tell the trufh if they 
want to. Even the weather man’s predic¬ 
tions are sometimes verified. 


The lady who talks with all the features 
of her face, from sparkling eyes to dimples 
in her cheeks, is the most fascinating con¬ 
versationalist, no matter what she says. 


How Foolish. 

After all, life is summed up in the at¬ 
titude men and women assume toward each 
other. One sex is fhe complement of the 
other, and neither could survive if the 
other were eliminated from the economy 
of Nature. This intimacy of interest 
makes plain the line of duty to each, if it 
be studied. When relationship is what it 
ought to be, we have ideal social condi¬ 
tions. Without doubt the family institu¬ 
tion is the best means of rounding out the 
instincts of human nature. How foolish 
then the policy that shall not preserve the 
harmony of that most sacred relationship? 
When husband and wife wrangle and sus¬ 
picion and find fault and upbraid for every 
trivial thing, it shows not only deficiency 
of heart but of head as well. There is 
only one thing, however, that can discover 
to the party most guilty his or her weak¬ 
ness, and that is death of the companion 
made the object of constant reproach. It 
is a poor place to regret, leaning on a 
tombstone. Tears don’t wash out memo¬ 
ries. The place to repent is where the 
offense is committed. The home is an 
unbarred tomb to all the remaining in¬ 
mates, when “Mother” is gone or “Father’s” 
footsteps are heard no more. I never 
could understand how husband and wife 
could dare quarrel, or parents and child¬ 
ren become estranged. 


The Only Time. 

To-morrow is a fraud, a cheat, 
Never should we delay 
Any duty; when it comes 
To-morrow is to-day. 

Now is the only time we know 
That we can call our own. 

If to our task we cheerful go, 
True wisdom will be shown. 


It is not always in evidence that a man 
is a lawyer because he gets ahead at the 
bar. 


Why is it worse to play ball on Sunday 
than to play the stock market on Monday 
and corner provisions to distress the poor? 




















94 


DRIFTWOOD 


All Is Bright And Fair. 

I’d live for that eternal life 
That is the counterpart of this, 
Without its struggle and its strife 
And with its fuller cup of bliss. 

This world is but the ante-room 
To stately mansions in the air. 

And though the gateway is the tomb, 
When through it, all is bright and fair. 


Jokes far-fetched lose their point in 
transit. 


Man may imitate nature, but no artist 
ever duplicated one of her landscapes, and 
no poet ever wrought in his rhyme the 
perfect rhythm of the waterfall. 


The man that is not a companion to his 
wife or children, has no business to have 
either. He outrages the sacred name of 
home. 


It makes a difference how a man gets 
out of bed in the morning. If he gets up 
determined to see the bright side of every 
thing, the day will be flooded with sunshine. 
But if he commences the first thing to look 
for trouble, for something to find fault 
about, or for some petty, fancied grievance, 
he will walk in midnight darkness at 
midday. 


Many people are so bitter against certain 
indulgences, that others look upon with 
some degree of favor or approval, that 
they drive the latter often into deeper in¬ 
dulgence. This is not the policy of the 
true reformer or the real Christian worker. 
Kindness is half in the profession of the 
trained nurse, and two-thirds in treating 
moral ills or mental aberrations. Moral 
infirmities are a mental disease, and the 
patient needs gentle treatment. Christ 
understood this principle. He never ruth¬ 
lessly rebuked. But it is so easy for peo¬ 
ple who stand on the Mount of Transfigu¬ 
ration, to condemn those on a lower level, 
that they lose the force or the advantage 
of their superior position. Love and sym¬ 
pathy is the panacea for all ills. 


In Many Ways. 

God’s revelations come to all 
And if they’re heeded none can fall. 

As many ways are there to light, 

As stars that gem the sky at night. 

And satisfaction may be found 
In ways as wide as reason’s bound. 

Your way is right for you, no doubt, 

But it can’t shut all others out, 

Who seek in other paths the right, 
Directed by some other light. 

If all the same worn road should go, 
Narrow would be the truth they’d know. 
So I’m inclined to think it best, 

In many ways to seek truth’s test. 


There is no use of trying to put people 
to-day in the straight-jacket of Puritanism. 


“What we might have been, we can be.” 
The statement isn’t true; yet it may prove 
an inspiration to better endeavor. But we 
need to remember there is only one Now. 


There is one thing about building castles 
in the air; when they tumble they kill no 
one and make no noise to disturb the 
neighbors. 


What the world needs to do is to study 
men less and motives more. Money, good 
clothes and position amount to little, lest 
behind the place and beneath the clothes 
is the immutable principle of justice and 
unswerving devotion to the right. Policy 
must be subordinated to principle. 


There was a time when men would ask 
“What is the market, pray?” 

But now they only want to know 
What ball team scored to-day. 


A cheerful disposition and the habit of 
looking at the bright side of everything 
and everybody ( for everybody has a bright 
side if we look for it) tends more than 
triumph in some field of ambition to 
brighten the day. 

A smile is better by far than a frown, 
And pity bestowed is better than 
blame. 

Lifting up is better than pressing down, 
And nobler to brighten than blacken 
a name. 




















DRIFTWOOD 


95 


Just Wait And See. 

Spurn not, I pray, the down and out, 

For it may be 

The fellow had a cause no doubt— 

Just wait and see. 

Scorn not the girl because she fell 
From stern decree. 

She only loved some scamp too well— 
Just wait and see. 

Curse felon not behind the bars, 

Who might be free. 

Cause may be just for sin’s deep scars— 
Just wait and see. 

Pity the slave in chains of drink— 

For maybe he 

Was born on ruin’s fatal brink—• 

Just wait and see. 

A thousand things that we deplore, 

All must agree, 

The half of them we would ignore— 
Just wait and see. 

We form our judgments oft too quick 
Of what may be 

The cause that makes the world “sin- 
sick”— 

Just wait and see. 

There is no other word I prize 
Like Charity. 

And I am sure ’tis always wise 
To wait and see. 


Worry is the coward’s way of commit¬ 
ting suicide. 


Some people are always weeping over 
their losses and their crosses, but the true 
philosophy of life is to forget the past and 
live grandly in the present and for the 
future. 


I am sitting in the immediate presence 
of God. The forest trees ; the majestic 
mountains; the murmuring brook; the sigh¬ 
ing summer breeze; the carol of birds; the 
perfumed breath of the wild-wood flowers! 
Have I soul ears to hear? Have I spirit 
eyes to see the spirit expression of all 
these? Then am I truly enjoying commun¬ 
ion with the Infinite. What are these but 
the voice of God speaking to my soul ? And 
how shall I respond to them, properly, ex¬ 
cept it be with my two natures—body and 
spirit—the greater of which is the latter? 


The Way To-Day. 

“She’s keeping Lent,” the neighbors say, 
And claims to be devout. 

But yet she dresses very gay, 

And day and night she’s out. 

I do not claim her conduct’s vile, 

And she a hypocrite. 

I know ’tis hard with modern style 
To make denial fit. 

All seem to have a passion strong 
To be upon the street, 

And mingle with the giddy throng, 
Though they their faith defeat. 

Well, their religious styles may change, 
As well as hats they wear, 

Or manner in which they arrange 
The rats hid in their hair. 


If you see a man with his nose peeled, 
an ear gone and an eye out, don’t think 
he’s been in a fight. He may just be learn¬ 
ing to drive an automobile, and have had 
no words with any one but himself and to 
his car. 


What are people given reason for if not 
to use? And how are they better than the 
rat, if they don’t use it? They are not 
more cunning unless they are of the ruling 
class; president, priest or preacher. 


What power has money in the final test 
of disaster? In the Titanic steamship hor¬ 
ror the millionaire went down the same as 
the steerage passenger, and they’ll go up 
to judgment on the same terms of equality. 


The secret of happiness is to be able to 
get in sympathetic touch with every person, 
creature or thing with which we come in 
contact. But we must go to God for the 
source of our power to do this. 


Sweet Rest. 

Soon time will be no more for me, 
And yet why should I feel forlorn, 
For in Eternity I’ll see 

The dawning of eternal morn, 
And I’m assured that will be best, 
Since I at least shall find sweet rest. 


Cause and effect get out of the way for 
no one. 















96 


DRIFTWOOD 


A Shocking Reproach. 

I never see an old gray-haired man with 
stooped form and tired feet, dinner pail in 
trembling hand, going home with weary 
step, after a hard day’s work in shop or on 
the street, but I think there is gross sin 
somewhere, or such things could never be. 
Surely we are far from ideal social con¬ 
ditions, and from exemplifying a civiliza¬ 
tion worthy of admiration. Old-age pen¬ 
sion is certainly a coming fact, and I may 
add, an easy possibility. The amount ex¬ 
pended in equipping and maintaining our 
army and navy and adopting new devices 
and improved methods of warfare, and in 
sending fleets around the world for show 
or intimidation, and to have sham naval 
battles and to send Presidents on election¬ 
eering trips—the amount, I say, would 
pension every needy and worthy man, 
woman and child that to-day suffer untold 
hardships. Think of it; a country of 
boundless resources, yet people starving to 
death ! Is it possible? Is it necessary? I 
say No, only under false social and eco¬ 
nomic conditions. It is all due to a system 
that makes lambs of the many to make 
lions of the few. Every starving child, 
every poor woman that wheels a washing 
to her squalid home to be done for hire, 
every girl that sells her virtue to feed her 
stomach and clothe her back, every old 
man that carries a half-filled dinner pail 
along city street—all these evidences of 
want and proofs of injustice and base in¬ 
equality, are a shocking reproach to our 
much self-lauded civilization, and a scath¬ 
ing condemnation of a social system that 
outrages humane feelings and belies God’s 
mercy. Shame ! SHAME ! 


Some men, like the cat, 
Can see in the night, 
But it’s only that 

Their nose affords light. 


The irony of error is best illustrated in 
the case of the man who thinks he’s the 
whole multiplication table, when he finds 
he is only the character that needs another 
figure before it in order to amount to any¬ 
thing. 


No Show. 

When Mary’s lamb became a sheep, 
Some sixty years ago, 

Mutton then was very cheap, 

So Mary had no show. 

Meat trusts had not then been sprung, 
With prices in the air, 

And working men had not been “stung,” 
Who wanted fairer fare. 

But so it goes; all things are changed, 
From church to picture show. 

Things almost seem to be deranged, 

For fashion wills it so. 


There is money enough spent on the rich 
dead to clothe and feed all the living poor. 


The gambler may get a living without 
work, but he won’t get it without worry. 


It takes no effort to drift with the tide, 
but it takes a hard pull to get back. 


Many times banter ends in battle and 
jest turns to jangle. It is a good rule in 
business never to waste words. 


A business that suppresses every high 
aspiration, every sense of honor or honesty 
is no benefit to the individual or the com¬ 
munity. 


If the destiny of this nation rested on 
the shoulders of the young men, a mental, 
moral and business collapse would take 
place inside of a single decade. Anarchy 
would supercede law, notwithstanding the 
clamor for young men to go to the front. 
The saying “Old men for counsel and 
young men for war,” has lost none of its 
force. 


Solomon may have been the world’s 
original sage, but that was before girl 
graduates wrote their commencement es¬ 
says. The foregoing is a mean fling that 
don’t mean anything, for if there is a being 
in the world to be admired it is the girl 
that has struggled through a college course 
and has ambition to achieve distinction in 
the field of letters or philosophy. 
























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